The Opaleyes
by Jennie Chang
Summary: Part Two of the Dragon Hearts Trilogy. The Second War has begun. Charlie Weasley may be in Romania, but he and his friends are fighting the battle to halt You-Know-Who on the foreign front and encounter their own challenges against Voldemort's allies. Reviews appreciated.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to Warner Bros, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Heyday/1498 films, JK Rowling and Raincoat books. I don't lay any claim to it. The characters Simeon Slovensky, Mirabella Ribisi, Seth Johansson, and any family members or friends attached to these characters are the property of Narya (Rachel). The characters Abigail Ridges, Herbert Wilde, Nisha Wilde, any other extra minor and supporting characters, and the storyline belong to me, Aurora Moon. Please do not use any of these characters or storyline unless we are both consulted and give permission first. This disclaimer will be updated as needed.

 **Dedication:** To Rachel for the use of her original characters born from her creative head and for everything else she's done for the benefit of the story.

* * *

 **Prologue**

"Anything else for you, Andreas? We'll be closing shortly."

A small hand movement waved the young barmaid away, the eyes and mind of the patron not even bothering to meet her hazel gaze as she made her final round for the evening. Gathering the empty plate and goblet from the table she swiftly placed the soiled dishes onto a levitating tray and proceeded to the next set of customers, a group of men playing cards by the hearth. They loudly ordered a final round of drinks, a necessity before they would be forced to disperse from their lively game and return home to their witchy wives.

On a less tiresome evening, Andreas Kaminski would have smiled and given a verbal answer to the kind waitress who attentively served him whenever he dined at the local watering hole. She knew him on a first name basis, after all, and never failed at her duty to feed him well. Over the months he'd frequented The Crossed Fangs he'd become a familiar face, and he and Livvia had ongoing conversations about their work and current events that resumed every time he came to dine; but with his head swimming in the latest news and his body weary from a long day, talking to the server wasn't at the top of his list of priorities.

Through his thick glasses, the man's eyes wandered about the room drinking in the surroundings of the pub instead of a last pint of ale. The warlocks by the hearth had gotten their last round and were taking large gulps from their cups while placing bets on their final hands. To the side of the group Livvia was flicking her wand towards nearby chairs, causing them to flip themselves onto the tops of their accompanying tables as a broom swept up lonely crumbs of long digested meals. A dark corner booth revealed an older gentleman chatting the night away with a glamorous-looking lady, who seemed rather bored of the conversation despite the occasional smile from her red lips. The bartender was busy at work with his sleeves at his elbows, wiping down the countertops in full view of the giggling blonde he had been attending to all evening with free drinks, his eyes glimmering with hope for poor judgement in his favour.

So many stories could be told by the clientele of The Crossed Fangs; that was what he always felt whenever he indulged in people-watching at the bar. Thrilling tales of political deception gushed from the floorboards, mystery hung in every rafter, and the walls gossiped of the scandalous seductions that had taken place in the upstairs rooms. The pub was a plethora of human experience and secrets, unleashed with the lowering of inhibitions. If the building could talk, he could only imagine what it might have to say.

The stroke of two o'clock in the morning from the nearby grandfather clock awoke him from his reflection. Andreas turned his head to the front window beside him, observing the moonless night waiting to envelop him in darkness. He rose from his seat and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. His evening was far from over with the long journey home.

"Your bill, Mr Kaminski."

Livvia was at his side again, the check for the chef's specialty in her outstretched hand as she watched him slip into the sleeves of his coat. His hand reached deep into his pants pocket, pulling out a few Galleons and placing them gently into the waitress' hand. He felt her shudder as their skin touched, her hazel eyes growing to the size of saucers at the sensation. He quickly drew his hands back, shoving them into his pockets in a mirror of what Livvia was doing.

"So, has the food and drink fed your writer's block?" she hastily asked, her eyes darting to the newly swept floors. The bob of her head caused her a strand of escaped brown curl to cascade over her blushing cheeks and hide them from plain view.

"Unfortunately no," he sighed, though a soft chortle escaped his lips with the thought of his next witty remark. "But the starving writer needed the meal anyway."

The barmaid laughed heartily, the embarrassment vanishing from her cheeks with the arrival of joy. Over her shoulder Andreas could see the warlocks rising from their card game, the victor scooping up the pile of Galleons as his prize while the others bemoaned to their fellow gamblers of the rotten hands they'd been receiving all night and swore to regain their losses at the next game.

"You're very funny," Livvia piped at last, bringing the writer's attention back to her dancing eyes. "I do hope you find your muse to continue your art."

He nodded with a small thin smile spreading across face while his feet quietly crept towards the door. "I do too. Though, you never really know where the characters will take you or what they have to say."

"Very true," agreed Livvia as she took a few backward steps towards the kitchen, giving Andreas a view of the giggling blonde from the bar as the bartender helped her to uneven staggering feet. "Good night, Andreas."

With a wave of his hand in farewell, he was out the door and in the fresh summer night air. He stopped a moment beneath the sign of The Crossed Fangs, fastening the buttons on his coat as he scanned the desolate street, noting that not a soul was with him on the cobblestone. Regardless of the fact, his wand was at the ready in his sleeve. In the heart of Transylvania, where vampires and hags were known to roam freely, one couldn't be accused of practicing too much caution.

A minute's walk west brought him to the end of the cobblestone road and the start of a dense forest that shrouded the village from prying Muggle eyes. From there it was another few metres due north when he came to the shade of an oak, where the night breeze gently rustled the leaves causing some with unsteady bearings to fall. Beneath the sturdy branches, Andreas pawed around in the open air with a single hand until it felt what it was looking for. Grasping at what appeared like nothing he flipped the unseen handle and entered the driver's side of a Disillusionment-charmed car.

Though he was invisible within the confines of metal, he still looked out the window for any wandering passersby before taking his wand from his coat sleeve. Uttering the spell, a small white light illuminated the space of the car and caused the front window to act like a dark mirror. In it he could watch as his face darkened instantly to a freckly tan. The stubble of a black goatee receded into his skin leaving a smooth shave behind. His dark hair shrank back several inches into his scalp and lightened to a familiar ginger red. In a matter of seconds it was no longer Andreas Kaminski, the struggling novelist, sitting in the car but rather Charlie Weasley, member of the Order of the Phoenix.

The light from the Finite spell faded away just as a dark figure approached the car, a gloved hand feeling around in the air on the passenger's side. Charlie's heart leapt at the blurred sight of the shadow, pointing his wand at the oncoming shape as he took off Andreas' thick glasses for a good look at what was looking for the invisible car. Once the spectacles were removed from his line of vision, the back passenger door opened and the redhead relaxed at the sight of a portly older man dressed in unseasonably thick robes who dusted off his dragon-hide boots before shutting the door behind him.

"How was your game, Mr Tomov?" he asked with a relieved sigh, happy to hear his own English again with the relinquishing of his Romanian language charm.

The man scratched at his heavy greying beard, feeling the wrinkles and age spots as he ran his hands up his face to take off the hat that hid his sweaty balding head. "It has not been a favourable evening."

He stopped there to fish his wand from one of his many layers of robes, his stomach being cumbersome in the confined space. The familiar white light bounced through the car, until the man in the backseat was no longer middle-aged, overweight, or bald. In his place sat the youthful, svelte, and dark-haired Simeon Slovensky. "No information vorth reporting on and I lost forty Galleons to the Minister of Magical Catastrophes."

Simeon began to remove the outer layers of his costume, tossing the richly embroidered robes onto the adjoining seat until he was down to his normal outfit of a black shirt and pants. On the pile of thick robes he lay his head down, preparing for the long drive that he did not have to be awake for.

"She's late," Charlie pointed out before his friend could fall asleep.

"He vas all over her vhen I left," countered the Bulgarian dragon keeper, barely moving a muscle as his eyes fell. "Give her a few minutes and she vill find her vay. She knows how to defend herself."

It didn't stop Charlie from looking out to the nearby cobblestone road where he expected her to emerge any moment. They had done this exact routine over and over again and every time she could get herself back alone. She'd even told him herself not to fret for her sake, that she could handle whatever came her way, but it never stopped him from worrying over her as he waited.

As sure as Simeon had said it, she came staggering drunkenly down the street alone. Glancing behind her with the wind blowing her long blonde locks around her shoulders, she tripped a few more steps south before turning on her heels and heading towards the car. With every step north she got steadier on her feet, the drunken act dropping without the appropriate audience. She swiftly found the driver's side door and opened it so the car's light bathed her white skin in a glow.

"I'll drive," she declared looking at Charlie with large grey eyes, gripping the frame of the door. She cocked her head to usher him to move over and vacate her spot.

"I can do it," Charlie replied with a yawn. "Besides, that bartender looked like he spent his whole month's paycheque keeping you drowning in shots and martinis."

Not a move was made, both parties keeping still with the expectation the other would back down. "You know I don't drink while on duty and you look exhausted. I'll drive."

"Fine." Charlie begrudging shuffled his body over to the passenger seat, knowing it was pointless to argue considering his tired condition. He watched as she climbed into the car, adjusting the mirrors and seat to her height and vision.

She was a classic beauty; there was no question about it. High cheekbones, a perfect straight nose, and full lips made her look like the aspiring model she was. Accompanied with her long blonde hair, striking light grey eyes, and statuesque figure, it was the undoubted equation for gorgeous. While Charlie had to admit that she was honestly very attractive, he could help himself from what he said next.

"You can lose the disguise."

Her grey eyes darted to him, wide in surprise, as a tiny laugh came from her lips as a cough. From her sleeve she took out a long oak wand, getting a good grip on it before she could perform the spell. "Funny, I always thought gentlemen preferred blondes."

The white light blinded Charlie's eyes for a moment, and even when it had diminished, colourful dots danced all around his field of vision. Blinking rapidly and shaking his head about, he willed them to go away until he could finally see the familiar face he longed for looking back at him with bright green eyes.

"I prefer you," he whispered lightly to himself, leaning back into the headrest as the newly brunette lady turned the key to the ignition and started them on the journey home.

* * *

 **A/N:** It has been literal years, but I made a promise to myself that one day I would actually write and finish this trilogy. It's a slow slog, but I often think of this story and I think the only way to remove it from my brain is to actually put it onto paper.

To my defense, I have reworked the entire story from its original conception. I found some things were not working so it literally started from scratch. During this rework, my life around me changed. I moved from the only home I ever knew to a place far from anyone I could possibly know in order to pursue the passion of teaching, I started my career…and perhaps most life-changing of all was that I lost a parent. While writing is normally cathartic, it was rather unfortunate that something in the story reminded me strongly of the loss I'd experienced, so I had to stop for my own benefit and take the time I needed to grieve.

So this is the new start to the second part of my Dragon Hearts trilogy, now renamed The Opaleyes. It takes place during Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.


	2. Chapter One: Memoirs of a Cold War

**Chapter One: Memoirs of a Cold War**

Simeon was sleeping soundly by the time they reached the main road leading back home. The shrouded darkness of the forest and long shadows of the mountains had been replaced by lit paved highways and the glow of larger cities in the distance. The digital clock on the dashboard showed the message that it would be a while before a warm bed was even a possibility, leaving Charlie with little to do other than glance into the fleeting blurred scenery outside the window, listen to the news of the wizard's network on the car's radio, and be alone with his thoughts.

"Reports from the Ministry indicate that the body discovered beneath the Dark Mark earlier yesterday is that of none other than Igor Karkaroff, former Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute," the slow soothing voice on the radio announced the breaking story of the day. "Karkaroff was a known former follower of He Who Must Not Be Named. He recanted his actions and named several other secret followers in exchange for his release from Azkaban in 1981. He began his redeeming work in educating young minds at the Durmstrang Institute shortly after, and served as Headmaster from 1985 until last year when he disappeared mysteriously abandoning his post. It is unknown if Karkaroff was in service to He Who Must Not Be Named at the time of his death."

Turning his head to the backseat, Charlie looked right at the unconscious Durmstrang alum curled up on a pile of robes. He would have to remember to tell him later about the ultimate fate of his former Headmaster, though he wondered if Simeon would even really care to know such facts. If he recalled correctly, his best friend had a rather cold exchange with the Headmaster at their last meeting nearly two years ago and didn't seem to be excited by the fact his old teacher remembered him.

Another story came on about a Dementor attack on a Muggle in Lincolnshire, adding to the growing number of Muggles attacked and in need of magical treatment at St. Mungo's. The disembodied voice from the wireless was just getting into the specific details of the brazen midday assault when it was silenced by Abby's hand turning the volume to mute.

"You should try and get some rest," she spoke softly, the light tips of her fingers grazing the blade of his shoulder. "It's been a long day."

Charlie reached up and took his beloved's palm in his, feeling the contours and ridges of one of her healing hands. She couldn't look at him with her eyes focused on the task of driving, but the gentle brush of her skin down his arm was all he needed of her comforting presence. With their fingers entwined in a dance with each other, she gave him a light squeeze.

"Just try," her voice coaxed him as mildly as the inviting summer night breeze. "Please."

She freed her hand from the sweet embrace and moved it back to its regular position on the steering wheel. Following the Healer's orders and his own body's deepest desire, Charlie slunk back in his seat and leaned the back of his head against the cold glass of the passenger window. He felt his eyelids exhaustedly fall into place as his body became limp in his seat. Physically his weary tired body was prepared to rejuvenate with well-deserved and much-desired sleep, but once again his churning mind had another plan. With the shutting of his eyes, the brain began its torturous work in reminding Charlie of all that had plagued him since June of 1995.

* * *

It had been just over a year since he'd laid eyes on the letter. He hadn't thought much of it when it arrived; Bill wrote regularly so it wasn't out of the ordinary to receive the parchment just as he'd risen from bed. News of the final Triwizard Tournament task was expected, but not in the way Bill had written of them: the darkest wizard of the century returned, the Ministry of Magic refusing to believe the word of the only witness, and the reformation of the vigilante organization that would fight the war against the dark forces. Charlie remembered reading the letter at least a half dozen times to assure it wasn't his half-awake brain misreading something, but there was no doubt involved in his response to Bill. If there was going to be a war against He Who Must Not Be Named, there was only one right mode of action. An hour later, he had pledged on paper to be a member of the Order of the Phoenix and to do what he could so far from the frontline.

Only a couple of days had passed with fidgety anxiety when official instructions for the long distance member of the Order came from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore himself. The letter was brief, but the point was clear: people would have to unite against the threat of Lord Voldemort (Charlie had shuddered even reading the evil name), so it was up to him to recruit for the Order in his foreign land. The reserve was a place of international reputation and those who worked there came from across the planet, Charlie figured Dumbledore must have known that. If there were any place to find supporters, the sanctuary where he lived and worked was likely a good place to begin.

Abby was the first person to ask what was troubling him, and therefore the first to be told of what was happening back home. Twelve years earlier he'd been the one to explain the First War to his new Muggleborn friend; he hadn't ever imagined he'd tell her the Second War was starting just a month into being her boyfriend. He could still picture her green eyes widen and feel her usually gentle grip tighten on his hands as the hard reality of all he was telling her settled into every crevice of her mind.

"People always said he might return." She'd spoken softly, letting go of her hold on him and crossing to the windows of the infirmary as if in a trance. Several moments of silence had passed between them with Charlie at a loss on what he could do to reassure her. He could barely reassure himself on the matter. Finally, she turned back to him and simply stated that Dumbledore could count on her.

"I'm in," had been Simeon's declaration on hearing the news later that day, not even taking a moment to consider his decision following Charlie's long explanation. Seemingly, he didn't have to think about it either. Bella had been the one in doubt, questioning things down to a second by second recap of the daring escape by The Boy Who Lived from a dark wizard assumed to have been dead for nearly fourteen years. Disbelief had clouded the Italian witch's mind at first, but once the shock dissipated her allegiance to the Order was crystal clear.

Word had spread from there onward, travelling from lips to ears all around the sanctuary and stirring awful memories as it went by. Several co-workers from the United Kingdom had lost family members to the rise of He Who Must Not Be Named and those who lived away from the dangers could remember the looming fear in everyone's eyes that the darkness would come to their countries next. Personal stories of the dark mark floating over the homes of beloved grandparents and mysterious disappearances of neighbours became rampant around the workplace. There was not a single witch or wizard that didn't know of the infamous rise and fall of the Dark Lord, but as Charlie learned the hard way it was difficult to prove beyond the words of Harry Potter that You-Know-Who was truly back.

"You can't blame them for their doubt," Simeon had stated one night on the way back to their room after a very silent dinner. "They vill believe vhat they vant to believe. Perhaps later, they vill come to understand."

"What made you believe I was telling the truth?" Charlie had asked, pausing outside of their dormitory building, basking in the colours of sunset. "We've heard every reason to not believe by now: Harry Potter is just an attention-seeking liar, no spell can awaken the dead, the Ministry wouldn't hide something so serious, there's been no news of death or disappearances like before, Dumbledore is getting on in years, was always a bit eccentric anyhow, we're just a rebel group trying to overthrow government. Less than a dozen of us are in the Order and everyone else thinks we're bonkers. What makes people believe, Simeon?"

His dark-haired friend had stopped to face him, his long sweeping bangs hanging in front of his rarely-seen eyes. He'd given a shrug, hands firmly in his pockets as he replied. "Ve all have our reasons."

The short spurts of insomnia had begun that summer. Not only were thoughts of failing recruitment attempts keeping him awake, but the lack of information coming from home was worrisome. The regular correspondence with his family had been in decline and the letters that were sent to him detailed the mundane things: Bill's new desk job at Gringotts that had him relocate from Egypt to England, Percy moving out of the Burrow to be closer to the Ministry's London offices, Ron's appointment as Gryffindor Prefect, and absolutely nothing about the family's work in the Order. Charlie had suspected the news was purposefully ordinary given the broken and reattached seals on envelopes marked with unfamiliar fingerprints, but the questions that arose over what was really happening behind the ink and parchment ate at him through the night.

In the beginning he could function normally, a bit of caffeine enabling him to hide the occasional few restless nights he had from his friends. Focus for the small group had been on what they could do to help recruit for the cause against He Who Must Not Be Named, and Charlie's occasional increased consumption of coffee over the few months had escaped general notice.

Events were stagnant during the autumn months, the dropping temperatures cooling down the once-heated topics. No news regarding He Who Must Not Be Named had graced the front pages or been reported on the wireless, so there was little to do other than work, wait, and in some cases, forget that a war was being secretly planned. The stories that had been viral in the summer had been tucked back into the corners of minds and were replaced by talk of upcoming winter holidays. It seemed irrelevant that recruitment was at a standstill, as there seemed to be nothing to recruit for. Charlie had to admit he was sleeping better knowing little was happening back home, though there was the nagging feelings that it was merely the calm before the storm.

"Don't worry about those things now, Charlie," Bella had scolded and laughed simultaneously as his theory came up over hot chocolate. "You-Know-Who hasn't made a single move yet. No one has died or disappeared mysteriously. Who knows? Maybe the Order is doing better than we can imagine."

"Or ve are being lulled into a false sense of security," Simeon had suggested as he poked at the tiny white marshmallows floating in his frothy drink.

Bella had scoffed at her boyfriend, playfully swiping her hand across his smooth cheek as if she were to slap him. "Always the pessimist, aren't you? You know, I don't know how I put up with you sometimes."

Fits of laughter had consumed the group for the better part of the night as Bella's optimism and hot chocolate spread through their bodies. Charlie remembered it clearly; not for the few days of joy and peace of mind it brought, but for what came afterwards to confirm Simeon and his original belief. Just days before Christmas, his father had been rushed to St. Mungo's Hospital.

The frequent letters from Bill were vague on the specifics, but anything outside whether or not their father was all right mattered little to Charlie. Everything else in the world had faded into the background, time running in blurs of subdued colours and muted noises between updates. All hours of the day throughout duration of Arthur Weasley's stay in hospital he had remained awake, waiting for news that could come at any moment from the family. Insomnia had a tight grip on him until the day his dad was cleared to go home three weeks later, after which Charlie slept for near two days straight.

Barely a few days had passed when the second storm of news arrived. All newspapers around the globe had printed the headlining story of the massive Azkaban breakout and the ten loyal Death Eaters who had escaped. The smirking faces of known murderers, torturers, and spies like Antonin Dolohov and Cassius Mulciber had glared menacingly from their places of honour in the newspapers, sparking talk in the reserve once again of loved ones lost, Charlie's uncles Fabian and Gideon Prewett being among those killed by the recently freed.

The dreadful news had a single silver lining to it. With known Death Eaters running amuck, people were beginning to see the possibility that their leader was indeed rising once again and the Romanian branch of the Order saw an increase of attendees at their brief meetings. It was, however, a tarnished silver lining as there was still little they could do other than be a united front.

"Ve cannot risk taking the Order into the light," Simeon had argued at the suggestion of recruiting among the local Romanian wizard community, his voice commanding the room despite his whispering. "The Dark Lord's ideals have long been more accepted, even encouraged, here behind the Iron Curtain. You-Know-Who did much of his recruiting in the East. And don't forget vich school has former Death Eaters teaching the Dark Arts. It may not be burned into arms here, but it is in their minds. Ve cannot risk it."

Insomnia took full control over the redheaded dragon keeper after that meeting. All through the night, time after time, while Simeon had rested soundly just over his head, Charlie remained wide awake staring off into nothing. There was nothing he could do in Romania while He Who Must Not Be Named plotted a war and Death Eaters ran free in the country where his entire family of known Muggleborn supporters lived. In every blink he could see them: Fred and George valiantly fighting a losing battle against a masked Death Eater, Ginny screaming as she was tortured by shadowy figures, his father's glassy glare as he lay in a growing pool of blood, and there was nothing Charlie could do to stop it from happening except to keep his eyes open and deny that there was trouble in his head at all.

Like before, he could hide his tiredness well enough to escape suspicion. The cups of extra coffee were becoming a new normal for him and the occasional Invigoration Draught was simple enough to conceal from his co-workers. Any question that did arise about his health and wellness was pushed aside with a casual "fine," and was instantly dropped as there were so many other things to occupy his colleagues' thoughts. Despite the absence of rest, he could still work and function as well as anyone else around him and his secret problem flew beneath the radar.

It took a single early morning shift in early March to bring his charade down.

Breakfast and morning coffee hadn't been laid out yet when his workday began, the sun barely peeking out from behind the mountains that housed the dragon's caves. The work wasn't meant to be difficult, a routine inspection to ensure the spells around the enclosure were up to standard following a frigid winter. Without caffeine coursing through him and keeping him alert, Charlie stumbled about in the rocky terrain, needing Simeon to keep him from falling over on several instances. Other times, the redheaded dragon keeper simply fell flat on his face, resulting in gashes across his freckled cheeks and a gushing bloody nose.

But it was when he tripped and landed on an unsuspecting Antipodean Opaleye's pearly snowy white tail that caused a complete ruckus for his co-workers to rescue him from. It was unclear to him what had exactly happened, but according to Simeon he was lucky to have lived with only a broken leg and fractured rib to show for it.

"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" Abby had asked. Her green eyes gently caressed the truth out of her love as her hands worked on mending his physical wounds. He couldn't help but tell her everything, knowing she would listen without condemnation for hiding the lack of sleep that nearly killed him. With every word about his worrisome thoughts the weight in his mind began to lift, though not enough to actually allow him to sleep. By the time he was finished, there was not a freckle on his face untouched by salty tears and his eyes had been dried to the point where he could no longer blink. The only reaction the Healer had was to wipe his cheeks with a clean washcloth, kiss his newly healed forehead and tuck him into the infirmary bed with a dreamless sleeping potion.

"We're going to get you better, Charlie," she had whispered as his eyes began to close and drift into an elusive deep sleep. "You're going to be all right."

* * *

Bright yellow light burning through his lids made Charlie open his eyes as the steady motion of the car came to a halt. In the dark moonless night the blazing porch lamp of the Romanian International Dragon Reserve lit up the pure white building like a lighthouse in the middle of the ocean, safely leading the weary to shore. While the high columned powerful facade made the structure look intimidating, those who lived there only knew the place as their home.

"Wake up, Simeon," he heard Abby saying to the sleeping Bulgarian in the back of the car. "We're here."

The dark-haired man stirred softly, lazily turning over in the seat to grab a few more seconds of precious slumber before reluctantly rising from his makeshift bed and gathering the many layers of robes that had been his pillow. With a grunt of thanks that quickly became a yawn, he pulled himself up and out of the car. Against the bright light of the porch, the dark clothed Simeon could easily have been mistaken for shadow as he made his way up the few stairs stretching out stiff limbs along the way; only when he stood directly beneath the light waiting for his friends to catch up with him did he seem human again.

"Did you sleep at all?" Abby queried as she unbuckled herself from her seat, pausing as she awaited a response.

Charlie slowly shook his head as it rested wearily in his right hand. "If I did, I wouldn't know it."

He thought he could hear a soft sigh as the familiar feeling of a comforting hand came to sit upon his shoulder. "What were you thinking about?"

"Everything."

* * *

 **A/N:** Currently I'm working on Chapter Ten, but I've always felt comfortable with this chapter so I thought to get it up.

To the guest, I'm actually Canadian so if this sounds American, that may be why. I try to get some Britishisms in, but it is unfortunately not my native dialect of English. I try my best, but if you have language suggestions, I am open to them.

In a nutshell, I never intended to carry the trilogy through the fifth book, essentially because outside of Hogwarts nothing is really happening thus there wouldn't be much to tell for Charlie and his Romanian branch of the Order. By the sixth book, its open war and thus something I could fictionalise. This chapter was to sort of sum up most of the fifth book without having to spend an entire part of the trilogy on it.

So there it is.


	3. Chapter Two: The Healer, the Head and th

**Chapter Two: The Healer, the Head, and the Heart**

At three in the morning, the foyer to the Romanian International Dragon Reserve was usually dim. The owner, Herb Wilde, was always considerate to leave the porch lamp and a light from the office on for the workers he knew would return in the dead of night. Normally this meant there was only just enough illumination to last until a wand could be fished out of a pocket and a Lumos spells could safely be cast without running into any furniture or walls along the way.

However, much to Charlie's surprise the foyer was bursting with magical brilliance as the trio of late night travellers entered. Sun-like radiance shone down from the fixture on the ceiling, bounced off of the sunny yellow walls, reflected from the polished hardwood floors, and revealed the sleeping woman curled up in a nearby armchair.

Simeon sighed heavily, putting his pile of robes down at the doorway in a furry heap as he made his way towards the silently resting brunette. Kneeling beside the chair he delicately brushed her long wavy hair behind her ear, giving him room to lay a kiss upon her cheek. The sensation of his lips made her stir, and within seconds her eyes began to open as though the curse had been lifted from Sleeping Beauty.

"Simeon," she yawned sleepily, her hazel orbs still blinking as they adjusted to being awake once again. "You're back."

"As alvays," he said, stroking her cheek as their noses touched lightly.

"Thank Merlin," she breathed, her heavy eyelids closing again. "And Abby and Charlie, they're back too?"

"We're right here, Bella," Abby replied from her place at the door with Charlie, neither of them wanting to intrude on the moment their roommates were sharing in.

"Good," she moaned, letting her head slump into the comfort of the armchair as her hands wrapped her pink bathrobe tighter around her body. "I always worry about you all, whether or not you'll come back safely."

No more words came from Bella as she drifted back into dreams as quickly as she had come out of them. With due care Simeon scooped her up into his arms, her small curled body pressed firmly against his chest as he cradled her like a child who had unsuccessfully tried to sneak a peek at Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.

"I told her not to vait up," Simeon explained with a tedious sigh that rustled the curled tresses of the woman in his arms. "It only vorries her more."

"Take her to bed, Simeon," said Abby in her Healer orders voice, gentle yet commanding. "Get a good night's rest."

The tall dragon keeper didn't need further instruction to know what to do; he had done it countless times before. With a nod he bid his two travelling companions good night and departed down a hallway, his dark clothing blending in with the shadows so that all Charlie and Abby could see was the fluttering hem of Bella's pink robe that seemed to float away on thin air.

"And as for you, Mr Weasley," Abby continued in her authoritative tone, taking Charlie by the arm and entwining her supple fingers into his, "I think it would be best for you, considering your busy evening, to take the necessary measures for a peaceful night's sleep."

She turned into him as she spoke, her free hand coming up to brush Charlie's stray ginger bangs aside from his tired brown eyes. With the softest of touches, she traced a line from his forehead, past his ear and down his cheek ending at the tip of his smoothly shaven chin. From there, his spare hand met hers and brought them around to envelop his body in her warm arms.

"Then that's what I'll do," he agreed in a whispering voice as the light of the foyer dropped down into a faint glow, giving Charlie the perfect ambience to lay his lips against the ones he had come to love.

* * *

The contents of a small pewter cauldron were gently steaming by the time Charlie emerged from the infirmary storage closet dressed for bed. Swirls of white vapour rose from the heated depths of the pot, wafting about in the surrounding atmosphere to make the air seem heavier than it was. Like tendrils of Devil's Snare the haze was quick to seek him out, ensnare his attention, and draw him in closer to the cauldron. He leaned his stocky frame against the countertop beside the brewing potion as it cast its brilliant glow upon its master who sat across from the intended drinker.

Abby hadn't yet bothered to change out of her clothing from the tavern, the shimmering silvery sequined dress she'd worn as "Svetlana" hanging loose on her regular figure and unveiling more shoulder than Charlie was used to viewing. She had tied up her long locks of light brown hair and abandoned the heels that matched her fashionable dress on the floor beside her, but those were the only amendments she'd made to her ensemble. Unlike Simeon who couldn't wait to be out of his layers of fur robes and back to black, a different skin didn't seem to trouble her at all.

"All the news from home must be difficult to hear," the Healer reasoned, lifting her grass-green eyes from their focus on the cauldron to her patient sitting across the mist made by the steaming Sleeping Draught.

Charlie shrugged. "Yes and no."

"Care to elaborate?" she asked, picking up a large wooden spoon to stir the bubbling brew.

"All the things happening: the Brockdale Bridge collapse, the giant tearing up most of West Country, the Dementor attacks, the disappearances, the deaths..." Charlie listed off the recent headlines from The Daily Prophet, respectfully pausing at the last one as his mind jumped to the image of his mother's old school friend Emmeline Vance, "it's all awful, but at least we're hearing about them now. It's not all in the dark anymore."

The young lady across the cauldron nodded solemnly as her skilled hands continued to stir the potion. "Do you take comfort in that? Knowing that everyone knows You-Know-Who is back?"

"As much as one can," the redhead replied, giving the Healer a thin smile.

She nodded again, diverting her emerald gaze towards her handiwork. Lifting the spoon from the pewter pot the liquid emitted a gentle lilac hue. With a tap of the spoon against the rim of the cauldron, Abby hopped down from the counter and made haste across the hardwood floor to get a clean goblet from the nearest storage cupboard. The sequins on her dress continued to catch the little light that came from the small blue blaze beneath her workstation, throwing the illumination onto her face and successfully making the patient unconsciously smile as he gazed upon the unsuspecting Healer like he did every night he was in her care.

Focussed on the task she made her way back to the cauldron, placed a plain stainless steel goblet on top of the counter and retrieved a thick leather bound book and self-inking quill from a nearby drawer. Opening the book up to the page marked with a red ribbon, the fingers of her left hand ran over the writing on the parchment as though they were doing the reading rather than her eyes. The quill brushed the side of her cheek absently, her thoughts focussed on the entries in front of her and the one she would have to make next.

"I'll give you the same dosage I did last time," she decided aloud to Charlie, scribing the thought down as she said it in her unusually neat Healer penmanship. "It is looking good though; these sleeping potions are coming fewer and farther between. You're doing generally well...with the exception of these sorts of nights spent working."

As her eyes rose to meet the red-haired patient across the cauldron she was met with a silent and unmoving gaze. She gave a quick glance over her shoulder to see what he was focussed on, but didn't see anything worthy of notice.

"What are you looking at?" Abby gave him a quizzical look as she went back to writing her Healer's notes.

"Someone amazing," he answered in a breathy whisper, "who has stood by through thick and thin."

A rosy hue immediately coloured her cheeks, though it wasn't clear to Charlie if it was from the heat of the rising vapours or a sweet blush for the compliment she was being paid. Her green eyes kept themselves away from him, a seemingly conscious effort to keep the reason for her flushed appearance a secret.

"Anyone would have done the same for you," she spoke in a hushed tone as though trying not to disturb the sleepy tendrils of steam rising from the cauldron.

"I disagree," he replied right away, forcing himself to stand up straight as he spoke. "Only you would spend endure the troubles of a complete moron like me."

She focussed her green glance on her logbook, dropping the quill to side as she surveyed her most recent entry. Her long arms braced her to the countertop as she spoke in a near inaudible voice. "You're not a moron, Charlie."

"I am," he disagreed again with a quick chortle. "I was an idiot..."

"No, you weren't!"

His hands only just caught him from falling backwards, his fingers gripping the countertop just before he could topple. As he propped himself back into a standing position he saw Abby leaning heavily on her hands, her head lowered to her chest like a turtle hiding in the confines of a hard shell.

"You were sick, Charlie," she murmured, her knuckles becoming as white as mountain snow. "...and I should have seen it sooner."

For a moment the dragon keeper thought she might begin to cry and crumble into a weepy mess. That was what happened whenever his fretful mother worried about his father only to find him safe at the backdoor several hours late from a long day at work. In the emotionally charged moment no one in the world would hold it against her if she let a tear roll down her cheek. But then he remembered it was Abby, who instead took a deep breath and faced him with her kind dry eyes.

"I should have seen it."

He made his way to her, immediately holding her shoulder and gently spinning her around so he could see her eyes. "There is no way you're taking fault here, Abby. I knew I wasn't sleeping and that I needed help but didn't seek it. That is my cross to bear and I won't have you trying to bear it for me. If anything, I feel bad I didn't share it with the one person I should have trusted."

By the light of the small azure fire there was little more he could say, so a single action said what was left for him. He took a step forward and gently laid his lips against his beloved's forehead as his hands caressed her warm slender frame in his. There he held her and for that moment there wasn't a war raging across the continent nor was there a year of disturbed sleeping patterns to occupy his thoughts. All the things that plagued him fled from his mind. In that small space of time, all that existed was the woman he loved wrapped in his arms. For the moment, everything was beyond magical.

"It's very late," Abby sighed heavily, pressing her hands lightly against his chest and gradually removing herself from Charlie's comforting embrace. "We should go to bed."

"Don't you at least have to buy me a dinner before you can say that?" Charlie smirked wickedly at the Healer as he walked backwards to the nearest infirmary bed, turning down the crisp sheets for himself.

From the corner of his ear he heard the tiniest titter escape from Abby's throat. Before he could catch her eye, she had already turned away to the cauldron and begun to measure out his dosage of Sleeping Draught. Carefully she doled out the lilac liquid into the stainless steel goblet, adding only a little at a time so as to be certain of its potency and precise to her notes. Once she was sure the cup contained exactly what it was supposed to, she trotted to the side of the bed and handed the goblet over to the waiting patient.

"How about just a drink?" she smiled as Charlie seated himself on the small mattress.

He gasped mockingly as he pulled the covers up over his body. "Who do you think I am? I am not some cheap whore who goes to bed for a single drink. What would my mother think?"

This time he saw her laugh, the shine of teeth hastily covered by her hand to muffle the joyous sound as though it were sinful to show a shred of happiness. Once composed she seated herself gently on the side of the bed and gave Charlie a tight-lipped smile in exchange for the accidental giggle.

"I love to see you smile," admitted Abby, brushing the stray strands of hair that had escaped her messy bun away from her eyes, giving them a full view of her boyfriend. "It's wonderful to see it again."

"Likewise," he replied, giving her another grin which made hers grow wider.

The Sleeping Draught continued to steam in the goblet, the tendrils of vapour swirling in a hypnotic dance around the stainless steel. A light dash of lavender scent tickled at his nostrils, hinting at the promise of the dreamless deep sleep he sought. Raising the cup to the potion maker, he gave her a silent toast with the nod of his head and took a long swig that emptied the drinking vessel in a single go.

The purple liquid slid down his throat with the comforting texture of heated milk, hitting his stomach with delightful warmth that began to spread instantly into his extremities. Lowering into bed, his eyelids became weighed down before he even hit the pillow beneath his head. With the flick of Abby's wand, the blue flame beneath the cauldron went out and enveloped the room in darkness just as he drifted into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

 **A/N:** Currently writing Chapter Twelve, but suffering from some terrible self-doubt somewhere in the midst of the previous chapters…I am my own worst critic in many aspects of my life and writing for fun is no escape from that.

Not much to say or point out about this chapter. No detail to explain.

Cheers.


	4. Chapter Three: Phoenix Rising

**Chapter Three: Phoenix Rising**

Late morning sunlight aroused Charlie from a blissful blankness, the natural illumination filtering through the window shining directly onto his face and stirring his brown eyes enough to cause them to flutter lazily. Turning onto his left side away from the daylight he yawned and shut his eyes again in a desperate attempt for a few more minutes of darkness, but in a bright room it was near impossible to escape. Every clean shimmering surface of the sterile infirmary gave the sun something to reflect against, the light following the ginger-haired man's eyes as though it had a sworn vendetta against lying in.

It was still an odd sensation to have the light awaken him in the morning. Not only was the window in his own room small, but any natural sunshine was usually blocked out by his sleeping in the lower bunk. Any radiance that did find his eyes could always easily be fixed by a turn of his head, but such was not possible in a room full of light and Charlie had no choice but to relent and face the day by opening his eyes.

The first thing he glimpsed upon was the empty hospital bed beside him, made neatly with every corner of the clean white sheet tucked tight beneath the thin mattress. A plump downy pillow sat at the head, fluffed and waiting for someone's head to come and rest upon it. At first glance there was no sign that the other bed, which usually housed a pretty brunette woman in a navy Puddlemere United t-shirt and flannel pants, had been used at all. It took a full minute sitting up on the mattress before Charlie saw the discarded pyjamas carefully draped on the bedpost farthest from him.

"Well, good morning," a familiar voice greeted from its place at the window.

Spinning his head, his eye caught sight of the resident Healer seated at her desk with her usual quill hovering over the leather logbook. She had only given him a seconds' worth of glance before she turned her attention to a large white gold wristwatch, which Charlie recognized as his from his coming-of-age birthday, resting in her palm. Noting the exact time given by the dragons encircling the watch's face, she was quick to scribble down her professional entry for the morning.

"I trust you slept well with your last eight hours," she commented, surveying her notation with a nod of her head.

"You would know," grinned the well-rested dragon keeper as he propped himself up straight against the pillow.

"Yes, I would." She smiled back, shutting the logbook and dropping the quill as she turned to face him with a stretch of her long arms. "You must have slept well because your snoring is dreadfully loud. Simeon is very right to complain about it."

Charlie let out a single laugh as his face became flush with rosiness behind his many freckles. Feigning scratching his nose he placed his hands directly over his warm cheeks before he was suddenly overcome with the desire to find his wand. His gaze diverted away from Abby as he searched the bedside table drawer for his maple wood wand, missing it completely as it sat in plain view atop the nightstand.

"It does make me happy though," she stated plainly as she stood before her boyfriend, his heavy wristwatch held out to him in her extended hand. "It's much better than complete silence."

He took the precious watch from her hand, slipped it over his own, and clasped it tight to his wrist, noting the time was very near noon before he looked up to Abby, shaking his head. "You must not get a very good night's rest though, listening to my snores all night long."

She sat down on the bed beside him, bringing herself to his eye level to brush his stray ginger bangs away from his forehead and run a few fingers down his hairline with care. "I'll get used to it."

The scent of mint had only grazed his lips when the door to the infirmary opened and caused the fresh breath to retreat. In the exact same clothes he had worn the night before Simeon hastily strolled straight towards Charlie and Abby, the speed of his steps alone suggesting urgency to an unknown matter. The Healer was quick to stand, positioning herself at the foot of the bed between the two men as if instinct told her she may have to shoo away the visitor in favour of her patient's health.

"Simeon," she greeted politely as he stopped only inches away from her, his hand resting upon the metal frame of Charlie's bed.

"I apologise for the disruption," the dark-haired man said, bowing his head towards Charlie and then Abby, "but the Order is convening in less than fifteen minutes and I thought you might vant to be there."

* * *

It took Charlie less than three minutes to dress and ready himself, but when he emerged from the storage closet his two companions had already departed. Pocketing his maple wand and tossing his pyjamas atop the unmade hospital bed, he quickly made his own way out of the infirmary and down a short empty corridor towards the eastern wing of the building. With a long stride in his step he passed the usual hallway scenery of numbered doors and framed photos of note-worthy past employees, dragon keepers and researchers alike, while halting for nothing. He only stopped when he came to a familiar door where instead of a number it was marked with a large golden bird flying about in a small circle at eye level. Withdrawing his wand he tapped the floating symbol three times and with a click of the charmed doorknob was instantly admitted into the rooms that housed the Order of the Phoenix.

Chatter wafted about in the surrounding air, members of the organization both standing against the white walls and sitting at the large meeting table talking amongst each other while there were still minutes to spare. The quiet click of the door closing did little to distract them, the redhead slipping in without general notice as snippets of the louder conversation caught his ears. Talk of the latest news was quickly circulating around the walls, many eager to discuss the reported death of Headmaster Karkaroff and the mysterious disappearances of Diagon Alley shopkeepers with clippings of newspaper in hand for reference.

"Here I thought Professor Karkaroff vould be rejoining the Death Eaters," Mikhail Volkov proclaimed, slapping the newsprint picture of his former Headmaster as Charlie swiftly made his way past the small group of Durmstrang graduates towards the head of the room. "He loved his Dark Arts so."

"It says there was no sign of a struggle at Ollivanders," recounted Ardel Collins as he read directly from a copy of The Daily Prophet. "He may have abandoned the shop voluntarily."

"What would anyone want with the local ice cream man?" asked Tamera Cohen, shaking her head. "I doubt You-Know-Who has cravings for hot fudge sundaes that only Mr Fortescue can make."

"You obviously 'aven't tasted Fortescue's raspberry lemon sherbet. Oi, Charlie!"

A hand landed squarely on Charlie's shoulder, stopping the dragon keeper in his tracks and making him turn to greet the chipper voice that found him. Shane Kennedy had his free hand extended, giving him a hearty handshake and a pat on the back.

"Good to see you," Shane began with his usual string of pleasantries. "Yer lookin' well rested. That Abby must be workin' 'er charms on ya, if ya know what I mean. How was yer go last night at The Crossed Fangs? Some news there, those disappearances and all?"

There was little for Charlie to say in response to his Irish friend and fellow Hogwarts alum, the dragon keeper simply nodding as he walked backwards. A few small steps was all it took for the conversation to leak over to willing participants and allow the dragon keeper to continue on his journey.

A wall made of window glass stood resolute near the end of Charlie's path, the view of brilliant blue skies looming high over the mountains that hid the reserve from Muggle eyes streaming in like midday light in the infirmary. If not for the occasional sight of a flying Norwegian Ridgeback or Romanian Longhorn in the distance, he would have said the landscape must have been painted. There near the window he took his usual seat at the gleaming wooden table not taking his eyes away from the magnificent view or the two figures that stood against the glass with their gazes fixed upon the wide world outside, speaking in hushed voices beneath the rest of the dialogue in the room.

Simeon leaned casually against the window wall, his hands firmly in his pants pockets as his dark eyes scanned the sunny scenery. His long black bangs were swept out of his line of vision, the task of watching the mountain range seemingly a serious situation. Occasionally his eyes would steal a glance into the crowd only to return to the window and mouth a couple of words to his lookout companion, who stood statue still watching the world go by.

"Afternoon, Charlie," a sweet song-like voice interrupted his thoughts. "You're looking well."

He turned to smile up at the warm face of Bella as she seated herself to his immediate right and set down her parchment and white feather quill. She leaned towards him, speaking in a hushed tone as though what she had to say was meant for him alone. "How was your duty last night?"

"Uneventful," he answered honestly. "Not much happened other than Simeon losing at cards and Abby being flirted with by that scoundrel of a bartender."

Bella let out a small laugh at Charlie's last smart remark. "I suppose that means she is doing her job well."

A sudden hasty silence between the two smiling friends said more than words could have; the pause in Bella's chuckle and her fingers fascination in fiddling with her feather quill alerting Charlie to the hidden message beneath her last remark. He was quick to put his hand atop of hers and give a reassuring pat to one who needed it.

"It isn't for everyone, to be out there," he explained calmly as he had done before.

"I know," she replied in an unusual near whisper. "It just isn't easy being the one who stays back and waits and wonders what has happened."

"I'm familiar with that feeling," sighed Charlie.

"Which is what makes you the perfect confidante."

As the phrase left Bella's tongue there was movement at the large window wall that caught Charlie's attention. The two lookouts turned around to face the room and made their way to the last two spots at the long table, seating themselves in the commanding lead chair and the immediate left. All the conversations in the room stopped the second they were sitting, everyone seeming to hold their breath as if life depended upon it. Every pair of eyes fell to the head of the table where Abby tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear and prepared to address the masses.

"Thank you all for attending," she began, her hands folding themselves upon the surface of the table as her clear voice carried around the meeting room. "We will hear our first report presently."

A comet of silver light burst soundlessly through the window at the end of Abby's sentence, the glowing orb landing squarely at the centre of the table before it materialised and took form as a translucent swan-sized bird. Its long ghostly tail feathers ruffled as its clear eyes scanned the room carefully assuring it was in the company of its allies after the long journey.

"To our Romanian brethren of the Order of the Phoenix, I thank you all for taking the time to hear this message," the all-knowing voice of Albus Dumbledore emitted from the beak of the silvery phoenix Patronus, the cadence of his speech captivating his audience. Bella's quill sprung to life upon the parchment, dipping itself into the pot of ink she'd set out and furiously writing while everyone listened to the Hogwarts Headmaster with rapt attention. "As you are all well aware, Lord Voldemort has fast been gaining ground since his outing at the Ministry almost two months ago. Since then he has been wreaking havoc upon Muggles and wizards alike. The disappearances and murders have started. We are in a full-scale war with the forces of Lord Voldemort."

A collective shudder went up everyone's spine at the mere mention of his name. It was foolish in their minds to be scared of someone's self-importance given title, but for so long it had been engrained that speaking of such an evil was a sin. As children they were taught to only speak of him as You-Know-Who or He Who Must Not Be Named, and the habit was proving hard to break.

"It is a wonderful thing to know so many of you, despite international boundaries and personal loyalties, have come together in our cause," Dumbledore's Patronus continued, the translucent eyes of the phoenix seeming to look proudly about at the grown crowd of witches and wizards. "We are only as strong as the bonds which hold us together and your group has done astounding work in uniting, something you will need for the road ahead.

"Many of our Aurors in the Order echo your suspicions that Lord Voldemort will try to recruit in your territory behind the Iron Curtain. He's found ones loyal to his cause there before, after all. Eastern Europe has been a breeding ground for the ideals regarding wizard supremacy dating back farther than Grindlewald and flourishing recently beneath Ceausescu. The magical communities there are desperate for a return to former glory since the fall of communism and I have no doubt Lord Voldemort will offer just that.

"With all this in mind, I do understand the difficulty you have encountered in trying to reach out to the local wizarding community and rally people to a cause they do not support. Do not see this as failure. It is a tremendous undertaking to even dream of attempting."

The hair upon Charlie's neck stood straight as the words flowed from the phoenix's beak, words meant for him. He looked across the table to Simeon, who did not bend his brow from his focussed glare on Dumbledore's messenger bird as it pressed on with its speech.

"I encourage you to keep trying to find those who could support the Order; you may find them in the unlikeliest of places. However, I also ask that you continue to keep your eyes and ears open to the likelihood of Lord Voldemort's followers being in your midst. As you have been, do what you can to keep them in your minds and sights and inform us if you hear a whisper of anything of interest."

With a great sigh the ghostly bird began to slowly dissolve into flames, a small brilliant blaze forming at its tail and climbing up its silvery figure as it left a trail of glittering ash that melted away like spring snow. Lowering its magnificent head as if to fall asleep beneath its wing the charm accepted its demise with the job of delivering the message completed.

"Oh, and I must say," the Patronus spoke again just as the fire reached the base of its short plumed neck. "Whoever sent the last Patronus message, I do enjoy your corporeal form greatly. An Augury, the Irish cousin of the phoenix. It is a very interesting choice."

It couldn't say anymore on the matter, the last of the flames disintegrating the bird until there was no trace that it had ever been present at their meeting. The audience that had been so quiet during the presentation were now stirring, the speech from the mystical phoenix being repeated in abbreviated whispers across the room while the entirety of it sat on the table beneath Bella's quill. Charlie watched as Simeon's dark eyes darted towards Abby, a silent communication passing between them.

"This makes our path forward clear," she proclaimed, leaning forward on her elbows as she looked across the room, silencing the whispers with her green gaze. "By the order of Dumbledore those who are willing and able participants will continue to infiltrate connections as spies, finding not only prospective allies, but potential enemies."

"Yah, and findin' an ally is like findin' a domesticated dragon 'round these parts," Shane quipped a loud, chuckling to himself a little for his quick wit.

"As stated by Dumbledore," Simeon stated plainly, the room hushing as his voice carried across the crowd, "you never know vere you may find allies."

"It is why we started spying before getting the approval," added Tamara. "It is good to know that Dumbledore backs our efforts in espionage."

The reports began to roll in from there, those partaking in the spy ring sharing the information they had gathered from their new identities, which in comparison to the headlines on newspapers was nothing too shocking. There were some sympathetic reactions to the news from wizards high up in the Romanian Ministry for Magic and from the local residents, but nothing that would indicate a strong feeling of negativity towards He Who Must Not Be Named and his politics. All those who were hopeful allies were very good at keeping their conversations to the facts and their opinions to themselves.

"It will take time," the young woman at the head of the table remarked just as the spy reports were completed. "Gaining trust from our new colleagues and friends is not something to be accomplished quickly. As we continue, we will start to see the true colours of those we watch. And hopefully time is on our side."

* * *

 **A/N:** I had to do some reading on Romanian history, figuring it was going to play a bigger part. Jo Rowling has stated before that the rise of Grindlewald was associated with World War II, so I tried to see how the Cold War would have impacted wizards in Eastern Europe. It ended up not being as big as I thought, but it did lead me to think that ideals of blood supremacy might be stronger behind the Iron Curtain. It works for the story, so I left it in.


	5. Chapter Four: The Nest

**Chapter Four: The Nest**

"So, when is your next card game?" Charlie asked his friend as he took his seat at the lunch table.

"In three nights' time," the dark-haired Bulgarian answered as he pulled the bun from his hamburger and grabbed the ketchup to his left without even needing to move his eyes. "Minister Dalca vill not have my Galleons for long."

"Be sure to mention Anya to them."

"I alvays speak of my Anya," he answered, closing up his meal with the desired amount of red sauce and bringing it near his lips. "It is almost unusual for them to hear so much of a voman vhen all they do is complain of their vives."

Silence fell between the two young men as they began to eat, their brains and mouths becoming occupied with the succulent patties of grilled beef layered with lettuce, tomato and bread sitting before them. With only a single bite from the burgers, juices began to slide down their chins and back onto their plates making the napkins on their trays a necessity.

"By Merlin," piped Colin Aiken from his seat down the bench from Charlie and Simeon. "It's a good thing yer girlfriends aren't here to see that."

"Leave 'em alone," Zuberi Roberts interjected, giving the Scot beside him a shove in the shoulder. "Just because Bonnie turned you down doesn't give you permission to be a Doxy to others."

"I'm just sayin'." The spectacled man shrugged his shoulders and slumped forward towards his own cheeseburger, not looking at the burly ebony-skinned dragon keeper beside him. "A lady likes it when 'er man has manners...and Bonnie doesn't know what she's missin' out on."

"Oh, she knows," added Valerie Walters as she picked the tomato from her own hamburger. "Word of advice, Colin: Don't date one researcher here and expect her not to share some details with the others."

Snickers began to ripple down the long table of dragon keepers as Colin cursed his past conquest beneath his breath. A piece of lettuce slipped from Charlie's mouth as he smiled delightedly while Simeon subtly shook in his skin from the sniggers. It only halted when the subject changed over to that of the day's work ahead of them.

"The Fireballs have been unusually restless lately," Constantine Baptiste reported as he read from the work schedule on his clipboard, "so we're to go investigate their habitat and see if there are any environmental factors that could be causing this: any invasive plants or creatures. Afterwards, we're to monitor the Short-Snouts so the researchers can do their observations."

Everyone grunted their approval for the work between chews, no one having complaint about the tasks ahead of them. At the very least they didn't have to collect the Common Welsh Green's dung as they had done last week.

"Fine then." Their leader stood from the table and started towards the mess hall's exit. "Let's head off and get this started with."

With wand in hand, Charlie vanished his tray of dirty dishes and unfinished morsels along with everyone and started for the door behind Valerie's trailing brown ponytail as he placed his magical stick into his back pocket. He had almost reached the exit door when a hand stopped him from proceeding any further.

"It is a Vednesday," Simeon stated simply, patting his friend's back before he disappeared around the corner following his colleagues.

With a sigh the redhead dragon keeper proceeded out the door, but turned the other corner away from the equipment room where every shift began. Instead he made his way in the direction of his standing appointment, scheduled for Wednesday in lieu of having to work. Considering he had missed the appointment for the past two Wednesdays, he thought it wise to be present this time around.

Bypassing all the staircases and rooms in the main building, Charlie headed out the doors that normally led him to his sleeping quarters. Beneath the ivy and rose covered pathway, he walked to the large gap in the trestle that came out into the courtyard bordered by dormitories. Stepping out into the summer sunlight, he took an immediate turn to his right off the concrete walkway and went across the grass. Slipping behind the girls' dorm he came to a densely wooded area, only broken by a small cottage sitting beneath the canopy of leaves.

Charlie went straight up to the forest dwelling and knocked gently on the painted red door. Light footsteps could be heard from within the home, quickly growing in volume as someone came near. With a click of the heavy metal lock, the door swung open on brass hinges to unveil the person he had come to see.

"Hello Charlie," the gentle and soothing voice of Nisha Wilde greeted him at the entrance to her home. "Please, come in."

With a gracious bow, he came in over the threshold of the house, entering the modest dwelling that everyone at the reserve had affectionately named the Nest, primarily because of the thatched straw roof reminiscent of a bird's abode. Nisha walked ahead leading the way for the dragon keeper into the small sitting room at the front of the house.

"Two sugars for your tea?" she called out in a slightly elevated gentle voice as Charlie trailed behind in the short corridor, having taken a moment to remove his heavy work boots and leave them at the entrance.

"Yes, please," he replied just as he entered, though the answer seemed to be almost rhetorical as a large green mug of steaming Earl Gray was handed to him with two sugars already mixed in.

Before he could look up Nisha was already seating herself in the yellow armchair with her own cup of tea, blowing so gently on the steam that there was not a single ripple to be seen along the liquid's surface. Out of habit Charlie took a seat on the floral-printed sofa opposite from his hostess. The bright coral walls around him reflected the leaf-filtered sunlight streaming through the nearby bay window, casting the entire room with a comfortable aura that never failed to remind the young man of the Burrow.

"How are you, Charlie?" the woman asked as she took a small sip of her beverage, the many metal bangles on her wrist jingling as she raised her arm. "It seems we see less of each other now that you are working more often, though that is a good thing for you."

"I'm all right." His thumbs rubbed the rim of his mug, waiting for it to cool slightly before he took a drink. "Been busy with the summer shifts as well as work for the Order."

Nisha smiled politely. "All of your work is going well? Herb has mentioned that there has been much to do with the restlessness of the Chinese Fireballs and their nightly activities. It isn't too much for your crew to handle?"

"It has been a trial trying to find out the cause for all this, but it's nothing we're not prepared for."

"Your friends and you always like the challenges." The caramel-skinned woman brushed the thick stray hairs from her face as she spoke before turning to the next question for conversation in her head. "How is your family?"

It was a question that was always asked as part of colloquial routine, but only a few short months ago it was one that Charlie had a hard time answering with the few letters with little information from home and it usually resulted in a panic attack when someone would ask. Today, however, he had many things to speak of: his father had been promoted to a brand new department in the Ministry in response to the war efforts; Bill was engaged to marry his girlfriend of a year, Fleur Delacour, despite their mother's reservations; Fred and George were proving to be quite the entrepreneurs with the opening of a successful joke shop; Ron had earned seven O.W.L.'s and Ginny had written to him recently about her intention to try out for Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Only Percy had not been in contact with him, but from what he gathered in the rest of the family's letters his younger brother was at the least safe from harm with his job working under the new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimegeour.

"It sounds like everyone is very well," commented Nisha as she poured herself a new cup of tea. "You hear often from your family now."

Charlie nodded as he took a swig of tea from his mug, which significantly cooled following his lengthy report. "Yes. Now that everyone knows about You-Know-Who, their owls aren't being searched or censored so the letters have been more frequent for over a month now."

"I can see it brings you great comfort to hear from them. What do you tell them of your life here?"

The redheaded man sputtered in his drink as the question hung in the air. For a second he thought he was about to have another panic attack, but as he coughed as the tea found the correct bodily pipe to slide down his extremities calmed and he found the right words at the tip of his tongue.

"I tell them about my work mostly," he said honestly, recalling the last letter he had written to Bill. "And I mention Abby, of course. They're usually interested in how things are. I can't tell them about Order business in letters naturally, but they hear about it from Dumbledore I'm sure. It's mostly about them though."

"You haven't told them about your illness?"

He shook his head in response, putting the cup of tea down on the mahogany coffee table. "I didn't want to worry them when they have so much to worry over already. Besides, it's irrelevant now since I've gotten better and I'm getting back into work gradually."

Nisha gave a weak smile as she leaned back in her armchair. "Like you, I wonder about my family in England. I have not seen them since I married Herb."

The story of Nisha and Herb was one Charlie had heard several times in both short and long versions since he'd begun working at the reserve five years ago. They had fallen in love over years of friendship, but when Herb had asked Nisha to marry and join him in Romania she had refused. For years her parents had discouraged their adult Squib daughter to form any attachment to the wild American man who chased dragons in his dreams and she convinced herself they knew best until the moment she found herself dreadfully unhappy without him. Then she'd done something unforgiveable and eloped across the continent with the man she loved, never hearing from her family again.

"My sister was expecting twins when I left. She'd been trying to have children for so many years. And Ajay was rising in the ranks of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. My parents were aging, but working hard in their shop and looking forward to grandchildren. I think of what they all might be like now and hope that they are happy in their lives, and then I wonder if they ever think of me."

She stopped in the middle of her thoughts, bringing a hand to her lips as though barring the rest of the words that sat on her tongue. Over years Charlie had learned that Mrs Wilde was someone who rarely spoke in public, talked little in private and conversed candidly only when there was something to be gleaned from it, so it was worth listening to. In habit he leaned forward, waiting for her to feel comfortable enough to continue on with her anecdote.

"None of them really knew me well, of course." She took a sip of tea before placing her empty cup across from Charlie's on the wooden surface in front of her. The clatter of the porcelain against the saucer gave away the twitch in her fingers. "I was the Squib, shamed, raised away from their happy life, only to return when my siblings were grown and the time to be children together was gone. I can't say I ever knew my family well, but they are nonetheless my family and I like to think they think of me as often as I think of them. I envy the closeness of your family, and I know they must wonder of you."

A sigh crossed Charlie's lips as he buried his eyes in his calloused hands, cradling his forehead there for the moment. "It isn't the time to tell, not yet anyway. There are so many other things to occupy them. The last thing they need to worry about is me."

The image of his mother came into his head, though different from what he would normally see at the thought of her. The look in her usually warm brown eyes embraced around her rosy complexion was gone and in its place was a frantic glassy gaze against a ghostly pale skin. Whenever the smallest thing upset Mrs. Weasley, that look dominated her entire body. It was a look that Charlie and his siblings tried at all costs to avoid giving to their mother and that very gaze would glue itself to her face if she knew about her second child's ailments. He couldn't let her know.

"How are things with Abby?"

Nisha's question got Charlie to pull his head out of his hands and look at the calm woman across from him, who had since poured herself yet another cup of tea. The shudder in her hands had disappeared, the graceful movements barely making a sound as she brought the delicate piece of china close to her.

"Better," was the single word he chose to respond with, though he quickly decided that it was an insufficient description. "Great. Things are great."

"Great," Nisha repeated with a coy smile over the rim of porcelain. "It is lovely to see the two of you flourishing despite the circumstances."

Charlie offered a thin smile in return. "Things could have been very different for us in the same circumstances; that much I know. But...she..."

His hostess nodded, recalling the many conversations Charlie and her had already engaged in regarding the topic of Abigail Ridges. He didn't have to complete his thought, Nisha could finish it herself.

Tea lasted for another few cups of the hot beverage, conversation turning into other lighter topics as they pressed onward and continued to spin into a natural flow. It was nearly an hour later that Charlie noticed the movement of shadows on the living room floor and excused himself in favour of a quiet afternoon nap, to which Nisha was more than happy to end their session for.

"I hope to you see you again, Charlie," she bid with a bow of her head at the open door, "though the less I see of you, the happier I am for you. So perhaps I hope to see you again not because you are away from the job you love."

"Thank you, Nisha." Charlie leaned in and gave his hostess a peck upon her cheek before exiting the Nest and trotting back towards the paved path that would take him back to his room where his cleared mind could enjoy a good rest.

* * *

 **A/N:** I think I originally intended this chapter as a set up to the rest of the missing timeline that took place over  Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, but I wound up leaving it out because I trusted people would fill in the gaps without me having to write it all out. However, this still stood to be important as it reveals what Charlie has been through and the fact that he is on the road to recovery, not just physically but mentally too. Nisha seemed like a natural choice as stand-in for therapist, one who speaks little and doesn't judge.

I've implied a lot of things, but some of it re-emerges later.


	6. Chapter Five: The Shadow

**Chapter Five: The Shadow**

 _Important Notice issued August 26, 1996_

 _Re: Chinese Fireballs Enclosure_

 _Due to the recent overly aggressive behaviour exhibited by the Chinese Fireball breed of dragons, it is ordered that all persons engaged in their care shall take the following additional precautions._

 _1\. Only those assigned to the enclosure will be permitted access._

 _2\. All persons will have their wands available in hand at all times._

 _3\. No person is to be alone within the enclosure._

 _4\. All medical potions and remedies will be doubled for equipment._

 _5\. Fire-protection spells will be cast upon persons every 30 minutes while inside the enclosure._

 _The Reserve has taken precautions to protect our employees and other species by shielding the enclosure until the aggression has been explained and subsided._

 _Signed,_

 _Herbert K. Wilde_

 _Owner and Proprietor_

 _Romania International Dragon Reserve_

* * *

Charlie had read the memo several times before his Monday afternoon shift, despite the fact that the outlined duties had been to feed the Hungarian Horntails their livestock lunch followed by a descriptive inventory of the newly laid and highly prized Romanian Longhorn eggs. He had many chances to encounter it as the parchment notice had been posted all about the building, one hanging onto the wall at least every five meters, to assure no one could claim ignorance of the information. He was sure that by the next day, he could likely have it memorised.

"Hand me your ropes, Veasley, I vill hang them for you."

Without even needing to look the burly redheaded man let the thick coil of rope fall from his shoulder down his arm and into the waiting hand of his colleague, who effortlessly tossed them right onto the empty hook they belonged upon. A second flick of his arm sent his own set of ropes to hang on the wall all before anyone could see him breaking the rule about throwing equipment.

"It is good to not have to vork vith the Fireballs today," remarked Simeon as he gazed at the notice alongside his work companion, "not after vat happened to Krall last Thursday."

"Poor Marek," sighed Charlie, crossing his arms across his chest. "It's going to be a while before he can sit properly again."

"Ah, just the people I needed to see! Great timing! Could I get everyone's attention here, please?"

With a turn of their necks, Simeon and Charlie brought their focus onto the balding man in Bermuda shorts as he clapped his hands. Other dragon keepers slowly left their tasks and conversations to give their boss the attention he wanted, which wasn't difficult given his chosen shirt featuring a pink flamingo in oversized sunglasses enjoying a Hawaiian beach. While the workplace dress code officially stated that attire should be functionally casual, Herbert Wilde usually looked as though he walked in fresh from his summer holidays somewhere tropical.

"Just a brief announcement, and no it has nothing to do with our current Fireball situation," chortled Herb, his cheeks becoming rosy pink at his awkward reference. "I'm simply here to introduce you to your newest co-worker, Marcel."

Given the loud nature of their employer and his Hawaiian shirt, no one had taken notice to the skinny fellow standing behind Herb's left shoulder until he raised one hand slightly and waved to the crowd of dragon keepers. "Buna Ziua."

"Marcel will be joining your team," continued Herb as he placed his hands upon his belly, proudly patting it as though he'd just enjoyed some of his wife's delightful cooking. "I have instructed him to shadow your crew for the next week to get an idea of the work and ask questions, and then we'll be throwing him in so to speak."

As Herb spoke, everyone else took a moment to silently size up the fresh meat. He was a noticeably thin young man, enhanced by the skinny-styled suit that hugged the non-existent muscles on his arms and legs. A pair of glasses bordered a set of hazel eyes and neatly trimmed brown hair framed his square forehead. Had Herb not introduced him as a co-worker, it would have been assumed that he was visiting from a local school to write a report about dragons for a Care of Magical Creatures class.

"So, be nice and help out your brother in dragon keeping." Herb threw one arm around Marcel's shoulders, bringing the boy closer to the forefront despite the partially terrified look crossing his face. "Charlie, you'd be a good mentor!"

"What?" The word had popped out of the redhead's mouth before Herb's words could even sink in to his brain.

"Well, you've been around five years now," he reasoned, tapping the index finger of his free hand to his white stubbly chin in deep thought. "You've taken your turns as a leader successfully and you organized Project Tournament those years ago. Surely in that time you've picked up a trick or two that you can pass on to the next generation. Of course, everyone in this group will be responsible for helping our Marcel here, but you would be the primary mentor to our boy."

"With all due respect, sir," piped in Valerie Walters, taking a step forward in a militaristic manner, "this is not our usual protocol. All new recruits are normally oriented and trained together prior to joining a team. Once on the team we would naturally mentor him in his early days, but..."

"Not enough recruits to run full orientation this year, Val," her boss explained quickly. "Nope, this is the best way for Marcel to get his feet wet and ready. And with Charlie helping him, I'm sure we'll see good things from this lad."

A firm pat on the back nearly sent the boy to the ground, his polished shoe stopping the rest of his body from toppling over to the cement floor. He was quick to regain composure so that his new boss didn't notice his infraction. Instead Herb turned on his sandaled heels and bid the boy to follow along for the remainder of their tour and many more introductions, to which the two quickly disappeared out the doors and down the corridor.

"He seems nice." Constantine Baptiste broke the silence of the room with a casual shrug of his shoulder. "I like the suit. Kid's got style."

"Kid is right," grunted Valerie. "I'll take bets on how long he lasts; ten Galleons on less than two weeks for that scrawny boy."

"Hey, he could surprise you," laughed Sebastian Linden heartily. "I recall many a man took bets on how long you, the first girl to enter our ranks, would last and it seems that they have all left while you still stand."

"Because they vanted to enjoy their remaining teeth after she vas done vith them," whispered Simeon with a chuckle, causing his best friend to smile at the memory of Valerie's winning left uppercut.

"I was fit to do this work despite some people's sexist thoughts on what a _woman_ could do," she argued back, her clenched hand getting close to Sebastian's lower jaw, "and I'll give the kid his fair shot. All I can say, he doesn't look physically up to the challenge that dragons demand. We'll be rescuing him from certain death just like..."

She stopped cold before she could complete the thought and caused everyone to become very interested in their work boots and shoelaces as their eyes darted downward. While the thought was left unfinished on her tongue, it wasn't difficult to know where her sentence was headed.

"Ve should get going, Charlie," said Simeon, breaking the icy quiet that had blanketed the equipment room. "Ve have that thing tonight."

"Right," agreed Charlie absently, following his best friend from the room.

Whatever was said after they left was unknown to them, but Charlie was only sure of the fact that whatever it was he didn't want to know.

* * *

"So, it's just you and Minister Cvetkov tonight?"

"Yes," answered Simeon. "He vants to meet for drinks. No doubt he is looking for a loan. The man has a gambling addiction and a lavish lifestyle that he cannot support on his salary."

The reserved meeting room for the Order of the Phoenix was empty with the exception of the two young men. Early evening light shone in from the familiar rolling mountain landscape and bounced off the gleaming wood of the long conference table, bathing the room in natural luminance. Circling around the table until they were in the farthest corner of the room, Simeon flicked his wand at the yellow wall to reveal an ornately carved door with a pewter knocker in the shape of horned goblin.

"Names?" the stone knocker hissed, the circlet in its mouth jangling between its sharp pointed teeth.

"Stanislav Tomov and Andreas Kaminski," Simeon enunciated with precision.

The goblin knocker hissed again begrudgingly, snapping its jaw at the Bulgarian, as the lock clicked open and allowed the men access into the adjoining room.

A large wooden wardrobe dominated the wall opposite the entrance, drawers and doors covering every available square centimetre of the space and not allowing any of the usual green and white wallpaper to show through. A standing mirror and vanity were off to the right side of the massive closet, the wall that held them covered from ceiling to floor in photographs and portraits. Simeon immediately seated himself at the vanity mirror as Charlie stood back with his left side leaning against the wardrobe doors.

"Do you have a response for not loaning him the money already?" the redhead asked as Simeon's eyes scanned the wall of pictures for the one he needed.

"I vould have thought it obvious," his friend replied as he found the photos he needed and turned his attention to the mirror. "I do not loan money to friends. Mr Tomov has not earned the living he has by lending."

With one hand Simeon swept up his shaggy bangs and held them to the top of his head exposing his rarely-seen forehead and dark eyes. The other hand held the glowing yellow tip of his wand to his hairline and dragged it slowly over his fine hairs. At the touch his hairline leapt back on his head, rendering the hand holding back the tresses useless. Repeating the wand movements over again he soon only had a wisp of his black mane at level with his ears.

"So, what do you think of this 'Kid' as Val calls him?" questioned Charlie just as his friend began work on aging his skin thirty years with the addition of spots and wrinkles around the edges of his eyes.

"I do not have enough to make a judgement," Simeon replied without looking up from the mirror as sags in his darkening skin began to appear beneath the wrinkles. "Ven I know him more then I may answer that question."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Who knows if he'll make it through training; the dropout rate is rather high in our line of work."

"True," was all Simeon had to say in response as dark scraggly stubble began to appear around his mouth and grow downwards into a beard. "Could you get a robe from the vardrobe? I think maybe something simple...vould help Mr Tomov's case for not lending money if it is plain."

Charlie nodded and turned towards the door marked with a nameplate for Stanislav Tomov. Opening the cabinet he was met with dozens of different dress robes for the middle-aged high-class wizard each of them stitched finely with not a single thread out of place and a far cry from the threadbare things he would find in the closet marked for Andreas. With both hands he began rifling through the selections, dismissing anything that came that appeared too formal for the occasion. Picking out the simplest robes he could find he pulled out one in navy blue and a second in black for Mr Tomov's approval. Were it Simeon that he was choosing for there would be no question as to which robe to give him, but Mr Tomov was a different character from Mr Slovensky.

"I found two that could work, you make the final choice," Charlie announced as he crossed the room towards a folding screen and hung his two selections there.

Turning around, his roommate rose from the vanity table and faced his friend. In the time it had taken Charlie to find his outfit Simeon had finished his transformation into the prestigious pudgy wizard, complete with a protruding hairy belly stretching out his black shirt and requiring the man to undo his belt.

"You're going to wreck your clothes that way," the redhead pointed out. "Face, clothes and then bodily transfigurations, remember?"

"I recall, this is an older shirt," explained the now Mr Tomov as he crossed the carpeted floor towards the partition. "I think the black vould be best."

"Of course you do."

Mr Tomov shot a menacing scowl at his friend before vanishing behind the cover with his selected robe as Charlie crossed back to the vanity and the wall of photographs depicting the cover of every spy within their ranks.

Abby had been insistent on keeping meticulous notes of every persona with the logic that they could risk discovery based upon a misplaced mole or a misshapen nose. With disappearances happening more rapidly now, no one questioned the Healer's overly cautious record-keeping. Each person who had agreed to do this dangerous work for the Order had spent hours constructing a new face and identity that had been documented upon the wall and consistently reviewed to know the character they played.

Difficult to ignore was the picture to the immediate right of the vanity lit with one of its bright electric bulbs. An elegantly dressed wide-eyed woman with a thin face looked out from the borders of the photo, craning her long neck to see over the red line that had been crossed over her with the small words beneath it written: deactivated. Her dark eyes said it all as tears leaked out and dripped down her cheeks, vanishing into the red ink.

Many had suggested removing the photograph but her portrayer had insisted it remain upon the wall, a cautionary tale with no words on how her single misstep had led to the loss of a great information avenue.

Beside the lonely woman was another lady in professional-looking dress robes who was Irina Markova, the newest columnist for the local newspaper. Below her was the statuesque model Svetlana Olsson and to her right was Anya Romanova, the one who Mr Tomov was silently working into conversations.

"Charlie," a stern voice interrupted the young man's quiet thought. "Are you going to get ready or may I slip in here?"

Behind him, having silently entered the dressing room without notice from the two men, was a blonde woman with a long plait down her back. Thick-rimmed glasses bordered her serious glance, making Charlie feel like he had momentarily swallowed his tongue.

"Go on ahead, Tamara." He moved aside allowing the Head of Research to pass to the vanity's mirror. "I'm just here with Simeon."

"Andreas isn't headed out tonight?" she asked as she seated herself in the chair and began to undo her long braid of hair.

"No," he answered. "It's been a slow week for news, meaning gossip isn't going to be strong. And as an artist, Andreas can't afford to eat out too often."

"Fair enough," Tamara commented. "One doesn't want to arouse suspicion."

A click at the lavish door alerted Charlie to the entrance of more members of the Order. As the entryway opened and the flustered goblin knocker snarled at having to admit more people into his protected room Abby came running in with clipboard and quill in hand as well as Bella sauntering in behind her.

"Sorry I'm late," Abby breathed, holding one hand to her chest so as to feel the filling of her lungs as she took in large gulps of air. "Things ran a little long in the lab. Herb has me testing the blood of some of the Fireballs to look for possible infection."

"Find anything?" Tamara and Charlie asked simultaneously.

"No," the Healer sighed, standing up straight with her ponytail of light brown hair whipping her back. "Whatever the Fireballs are acting up for it isn't in their blood though now Nisha gets some oven cleaner out of it."

With her breathes caught up, Abby had a long look at her clipboard and started to run through the evening's events: Mr. Tomov having a drink with his poker friend, likely looking for loan, and Irina attending a birthday dinner with her co-workers from The Romanian Horn. Both of these meetings were at The Crossed Fangs, seeing as it was the only magical tavern away from Muggle eyes in the wizard town of Micastel, so it made no sense for anyone else to go along and shadow for added protection in numbers.

"Is that what you're wearing, Simeon?" Bella interjected just as Abby had finished.

Everyone's eyes turned to Mr Tomov, who had finally emerged from the partition in his plain black robes. Waddling forward as he adjusted the collar and flow of his chosen garments he looked down, searching for a problem that may not have been obvious to him. "Vat is wrong?"

"This is not how a man of stature dresses," she stated with a roll of her hazel eyes as she walked over to his wardrobe and began sifting through the hangers. "You don't know for sure what Minister Cvetkov is calling on you for, so you should be dressed as pristinely as possible. My grandfather, God rest his soul, never left the house looking less than professional."

Bella was quick to select a more ornate robe in a deep burgundy red with hints of gold bordering the collar. She tossed it at Mr Tomov and crossed her arms sternly as though she were a parent commanding a spoiled toddler to clean his toys or suffer the consequences of a time-out. Without words the portly man disappeared once again to change outfits.

"I will leave you to your preparations," Abby announced hastily to Tamara, who was no longer a blonde, "and go check on the transportation. Mikhail was headed to the garage to bring a car around..."

"I'll go with you," added Charlie without a pause as he began towards the door, taking Abby's shoulder for a fast exit.

With a duck of their heads to avoid the goblin knocker they were out of the adjoining room, through the empty conference room and into the corridor with a mission in mind to find Mikhail.

"So what will you be up to tonight, what with not having to go anywhere?" Charlie asked as he took Abby's free hand.

"Well, this instance with the Fireballs is going to be keeping me busy," she replied maintaining a speed walking pace. "The blood test was negative for infection, but I believe the group that cared for them today collected some scale samples that I should look at for parasites or abnormalities. Then there's the matter of making a new batch of burn-cooling potion, we seem to be using a lot of that lately."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, but I'd be happy to be of assistance."

"Its fine, Charlie," she replied quickly, stopping in her tracks to face him in the eye. "It's going to be a late night for me. You're up to working four consecutive days and I heard from Herb about you training the new recruit effective tomorrow. You should probably take some time and rest."

"Same could be said for you," he said in a hushed tone, looking about to assure they were alone before he continued. "You're working too hard: taking care of your patients, the dragons, the Order...take care of yourself too."

He stroked her cheek and rested his forehead against hers. He watched as her eyes instantly shut, as though she had fallen asleep in his embrace for just a moment. With the gentlest touch he laid a single kiss on her nose as his arms wrapped around her, keeping her safe from the world as she had done for him for several months.

"I'm fine, Charlie," she stated plainly as her green eyes fluttered, lifting her head to their noses touched. "Don't worry about me. It's nothing that I haven't already done these past few months. And now I really need to go and check on Mikhail."

She tore herself away from his arms and continued alone down the hallway, her brunette ponytail swaying with her steps. With a turn down a staircase she was gone from sight, but not from mind.

* * *

 **A/N:** Originally I had written a few new recruits into the first telling of this story, along with a descriptor of how all the dragon keepers joined in under a mentorship program by shadowing and learning beneath a tenured worker. That changed a bit, but I thought about how J.K. Rowling said there were no wizard universities and careers are more like apprenticeships and that was what spawned how to be a dragon keeper.

Working on Chapter Thirteen now…slow process.


	7. Chapter Six: Training Marcel

**Chapter Six: Training Marcel**

"So, you must stock the belt vith ropes, hooks, first aid supplies including potions for burns and bites, spare gloves...and..."

The young trainee paused for a moment as he stared at the one spare pocket on his utility belt. His hazel eyes focused behind his thin glasses as he tried to remember the tool that was designated for that spot and was coming up completely blank. Looking up from his deep thought, he was confronted with several pairs of eyes staring at him and awaiting his answer like hungry Horntails.

"Vhat is the last pocket for again?" he asked at last, admitting his defeat.

"It's meant to be an empty pocket," his mentor explained, standing straight from where he was leaning against a metal storage unit. "We usually have bags for collection specimens and materials, but that pocket is meant for any collecting that isn't a required task. For example, if you find a shed scale or a broken horn, you could place it in your spare container."

Marcel nodded at the answer. "So...I got all the equipment needed?"

"Yes," Charlie affirmed. "Yes, you did."

A large smile broke out over the young man's face as he raised his hands triumphantly, which unfortunately caused his loose belt to fall from his waist down to his hip bone and expose the rim of his white underpants. The nasal snicker from Valerie as she turned away alerted Marcel to the problem, which he quickly pulled up as his cheeks flushed crimson.

"You vill vant to make sure the belt is tight to your vaist before you add the equipment next time," Simeon said, waving his wand towards the trainee dragon keeper to prevent his pants from falling again.

Sebastian quickly took over the focus of the room as he rambled off their tasks for the shift, which included collecting dung for the fertilizer that the reserve shipped internationally. A few groans echoed around the space, any chore regarding dragon excrement being among the least favourite jobs for every employee, as everyone added a shovel and bucket to their group of tools. With fallen shoulders, everyone followed Sebastian out of the enclosed room and began to make their way to the dragon's domain.

"Thank you, Charlie," Marcel said as they walked at the rear of the group, "for all of your help in this. I vould not have learned so much this past veek vithout your help."

"You're welcome," nodded the redheaded dragon keeper with a small smile as he looked at the scrawny young man as he stumbled over a rock in his path.

Charlie had to give himself credit where it was due; he'd worked hard at getting his trainee ready for the task ahead. While Marcel had shadowed him at work he'd been sure to go over as many things as he could down to the tiniest details for the thin man to make note of. Following shifts, he would go through every note made with him and quiz the Romanian on facts and procedures. He'd also introduced Marcel to the reserve's weight room and had started him on a workout regime designed to build strength on his skinny frame, which also forced Charlie to bring him to the infirmary for muscle-relaxant ointments. Nonetheless, he'd prepared Marcel well and it showed in the young man's growing confidence.

"You vill allow me to repay you somehow?" the trainee questioned just as they entered the dragon's domain and the group began spreading out in pairs in order to complete their job efficiently. "I owe you much, Charlie, so any thing you may need you just need to ask."

"I'll keep that in mind," replied his mentor, though the thought of a favour had already escaped him. "Just remember to watch your step."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Charlie felt his boot land in something squishy. The weight of his foot sunk deep into the soft matter and an awful scent was immediately apparent. He lifted his leg slightly as the brown gunk slid off the heel in large chunks to land back on the ground with loud slaps and splatters.

"So, not like that?" Marcel asked with a small smile.

"Precisely."

* * *

After many hours of shovelling dung in the late summer morning the last thing any of the dragon keepers wanted to do with their afternoon was lift weights, which prompted Charlie into changing his work-out plan for the day and take his trainee on a run through the surrounding woods. To his logic Marcel had undoubtedly worked his muscles already and fresh air following the smelly task would likely do a world of good. On top of that, he'd also managed to convince Simeon to join them.

"I vill talk to Bella about your idea," Simeon said to Charlie as they waited in front of the reserve for their running companion. "She vill probably be happy to help, but to be sure. Regardless, you know I vill do it."

"Thanks," his friend replied whilst stretching out his calves with a deep lunge. "I appreciate it."

"No trouble," was all the Bulgarian said on the matter as his black trainer kicked at the dirt in the road. "Have you run vith Marcel before?"

"I've put him on the treadmill," Charlie answered honestly as he brought himself back into a standing position. "He's decent."

"Can he handle the terrain? The forest is not an easy vork-out: the fallen logs, tree roots, uneven ground..."

"I suppose we're about to find out."

Marcel appeared at the entranceway to the main building at that moment, having traded in his work boots for a pair of trainers, and ran down the stairs to meet his waiting running mates. The sunlight showed the partially-dried sweat stains from the morning's work on his light blue T-shirt and a light line that divided his skin between what sections of his lower arm was hidden beneath dragon-hide gloves. His smile was just as wide as it had been earlier, and there was no denying his enthusiasm as he suggested that they get started with their daily exercise right away.

The trio jogged in unison down the flat dirt road, all of their feet hitting the ground in near perfect sync along the marked running route as their bodies became accustomed to their exertion. With nowhere to look but ahead, they all kept silent. Slowly Simeon began to pick up the pace just before the turn off into the trees, his darkly clothed body leading the way over a fallen birch and continuing over the natural terrain. Charlie allowed Marcel to pull ahead of him and follow the leader, to which he slowed down his usual pace to permit room for the young man to overcome the obstacles ahead.

To his surprise, Marcel was unusually agile. While his lanky frame was not as conductive to the labour needed in dragon keeping, it was perfect for leaping over fallen logs and missing raised tree roots. The rocky uneven terrain proved to be of little problem for him as he almost seemed to float above it all with his speed. After a few miles, Charlie felt the need to pick up his pace just to keep his trainee within eyesight.

Simeon stopped after a half hour beneath a large beech tree, relishing in the cool shade as he wiped his sweaty brow with the backside of his hand. "This is about halfway, so ve can have a rest for a little to rehydrate."

His two companions immediately sat on the ground beneath the large shaded area taking in large gulps of needed air and conjuring water to replenish what had been lost in sweat. It took a few moments for the two to feel normal again while Simeon pulled himself up onto the nearest low branch and took a seat there to gaze up into the green branches.

"You're a good runner," Charlie complimented once he had his breath again.

"Thank you," replied Marcel as he leaned forward on his spread out legs, attempting to stretch out the inner part of his quads. "I like it much better than your veight training."

"Well, that won't get you out of the free weights tomorrow," joked his mentor with a chuckle. "We need to get some muscle on you if you want to get into the gritty parts of the job."

A silence came between the two of them for a moment as Marcel removed his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, clearing the fog created from his warm face. Placing them gently back in front of his hazel eyes, he looked towards Charlie.

"Does everyone think I am unsuited to this job?"

"What makes you say that?" the redhead asked immediately.

The young man shook his head. "I hear the laughs. I know I am not as strong as some others are. I have heard it all before."

"Not everyone thinks it," comforted Charlie. "I mean, not all people who come to train here stay anyway. When I came, I was one of twenty-five who trained for the job. Ten of those people left after the first week and currently only seven of us are still working with dragons. Regardless of anything, we're always sceptical of anyone. Dragon keeping has an unusually high dropout rate, as I'm sure you've heard before."

Marcel nodded at the information, but remained silent.

"You've already passed the first week, which is more than many make it to," Charlie continued. "Soon, no one is going to doubt you. You just have to remember why it is you want to work here and eventually everyone is going to see it and believe in it as much as you do."

The young man looked up at the redhead with wide round eyes, his eyebrows raised high as though his mentor had suddenly sprout rabbit ears. A tremble in the ground made them both divert their gaze to Simeon, who had dropped himself down from his treetop daydream and decided to join his running friends in human interaction.

"Vhy is it that you vanted to vork vith dragons?" the Bulgarian asked. "Just out of curiosity?"

"Vell...I..." stammered Marcel as his eyes darted back and forth between Simeon and Charlie. "I...uh...this may seem odd to you."

"Probably not, Herb's rigorous application process weeds out the extremely odd cases," explained Charlie with a chuckle.

"Vell...I have this girlfriend..." the Romanian began.

"It alvays starts vith a girlfriend," sighed Simeon.

"And her father...he is very...he does not think of me as a suitable match for his daughter...he thinks the proper man is strong and manly and provides for his voman, so he tells me that before I can marry Rodika I must prove to be the man she needs."

"So, he thinks that caring for dragons will prove you're suitable for his daughter?" asked the redhead as his nose scrunched up at the thought that dragon keeping could be a prerequisite to a proposal.

Marcel shrugged. "I applied for many jobs after Durmstrang. Mr Vilde hired me and I figure, vhy not dragons? They are majestic creatures, so fascinating."

"No arguing there," groaned Simeon as he rose to his feet, rolling his shoulder and stretching out his chest as he trotted back upon the beaten pathway. "Enough rest. Ve should get back to our run now."

The Bulgarian began to run away, not bothering to wait for a response from his two partners as he vanished into the dense wooded surrounding. Marcel sprung back onto his feet in a single leap and started after him, looking back to see Charlie pushing himself back up by his knee with a wave. With the gesture he ran on ahead, trailing shortly behind Simeon as the last of the pack followed with a plan to conserve his energy for a come-behind victory over them both.

* * *

It took a very long warm shower to make Charlie feel clean after the day he'd had, and there was no doubt in his mind that all the activity he'd had that day was going to equate to a long restful sleep. The run had done well to clear his mind and there was little thought past having a nice dinner of Nisha's hearty stew and retiring early to bed as he made his way through the corridors towards the mess hall.

Vast majority of the workers were already seated and in the process of filling their waiting stomachs by the time he'd arrived. Grabbing one of the few trays left he proceeded quickly to get some of the aromatic food onto a plate along with cutlery, giving his server a smile as he went by, and immediately went to his usual dinner table where Bella, Simeon and Abby were already seated.

"So what will you do now that the scale samples came back clean?" Bella asked, gazing intently at the Healer across from her.

"There are some other non-invasive things we could look at, but I'm starting to fear that if it is a medical problem it could be internal," explained Abby just as Charlie took his seat between her and the window. "It's difficult to really know what's causing all of this extreme aggression and because of that aggression, one can't even get close enough to determine what may be wrong."

Bella shook her head with a sigh, pushing a piece of carrot across her plate aimlessly. "This whole business is quite the mystery for everyone and not to mention dangerous for anyone who has to work with the Fireballs."

"Well, let's not dwell there, I'm sure we'll figure something out," the Healer declared as her fork stabbed through a chunk of potato and she turned to the dragon keeper next to her. "What were you up to this afternoon?"

"Running," her boyfriend answered with a mouthful of stew that he promptly swallowed. "Simeon could have told you that. He was with me. Part of Marcel's training."

The dragon keeper dressed in black casually shrugged his shoulders and continued to chew on a particularly tough piece of meat, his lips puckering as he cleaned the sinews from between his teeth.

"Well, an owl came for you," Abby announced, standing from her chair in order to get the small square of folded parchment from her jeans pocket. Secured between her index and middle finger, she held it out to Charlie. "From Bill."

His fork clattered against the porcelain dish as he took the small letter from his beloved's fingers while she seated herself again. Untying the string that had been woven around the paper, he made quick work of unfolding the page until it was a short strip of brown parchment with writing in plain black ink.

 _Dear Charlie,_

 _Business is bringing me to Bucharest on Friday, September 20_ _th_ _and I was hoping to have a visit with my elusive little brother. Let me know if I can come and see you on the reserve and what time would be good._

 _With care,_

 _Bill_

 _P.S. Also looking forward to seeing Abby after many years._

* * *

 **A/N:** It was always my intention to bring canon characters into the story to tie this to the canon of the books, and Bill seemed like a natural fit to bring in at this point. Charlie is such a rarely seen character that there is a freedom in creating him, but there are ties he has that are important to address.

Still working on Chapter Thirteen, but progress is being made.


	8. Chapter Seven: Confrontation at The Cros

**Chapter Seven: Confrontation at The Crossed Fangs**

The goblin knocker had been particularly feisty Saturday evening, its tiny razor-like teeth very nearly taking part of Charlie's ear as he opened the hidden door. He could hear it cursing itself with a slur in its speech given the metal ring that hung from its mouth, but there was little time to linger on the rude piece of decor. It would take at least an hour to drive to the Transylvanian Alps and the time to leave was drawing close according to the ticking watch upon his wrist.

A woman was already seated at the well-lit vanity, her wand hand running over her voluminous platinum blonde locks and styling it into fashionable waves as it went. As Charlie walked behind her, he saw a familiar face staring intensely back that he didn't associate with the hair.

"I'll try to be quick," she promised, double checking the look of her hair as she turned her neck to observe the sides, "but Svetlana does take a bit of time to get right."

"No worries," he smiled, leaning in and kissing the cheek he knew before it was to be transfigured. "I'll get dressed first. Andreas doesn't take quite as long."

Abby smiled at him through the mirror as she began work on her eyes, the colour evaporating from her irises until only a clear grey remained that was accented by longer curly lashes and thinner light brows.

The closet marked for Andreas Kaminski, the unknown wizard novelist, was at the farthest end of the room and only housed a few carefully constructed outfits along with his staple pieces: thick glasses, a threadbare coat, and tattered brown shoes. Charlie rifled through the few choices he had for the Saturday night out, deciding upon a plain dark T-shirt, a worn plaid, and brown slacks that would complement the only pair of shoes the artist owned. For a moment he considered a tie to make the whole thing look a bit more formal, but a solo dinner was by no means enough of an event. With the few items in hand, he disappeared behind the folding screen and made quick work of stripping down to his boxers to begin changing into character.

It wasn't always visible in his clothes, but as details were key Charlie insisted on putting on Andreas' tattoos whether or not he expected anyone to see them. Holding out his left arm, his wand hand got to work and inked a stylised black cross surrounded by thorns into his upper arm. Below the cross words began to appear in a language he couldn't read, but was supposedly insightful according to Simeon who had translated it. The maple wand then switched hands and got to work on two braided arm bands around his right bicep, the black strands of ink swirling around each other to create the temporary tattoo. His chosen outfit easily covered these two pieces of art as he dressed, but the fact that they were there made him feel more like the person he pretended to be.

"How do I look?" Abby asked just as Charlie stepped out from behind the dividing screen.

His brown eyes looked up to the woman who had turned towards him from her seat. Her nose was smaller and pointed, giving the impression that she'd had work on a so-called deviated septum. Full lips had been glossed to a bright red and her entire face had become more oval rather than the familiar heart-shape. In the time it had taken Charlie to turn his body into Andreas, Abby had made her face into one that most women would have envied.

"You're a little off on the..." he started, noticing a slight difference since he'd last seen Svetlana Olsson as he got closer to her. "Let me help you."

"Just tell me where." She turned back to the mirror, examining her face closely for the flaw that he was seeing in her. "I can..."

"No, no." He spun her chair around so that her new wide grey eyes faced him as well as his wand. Bending down to her level, his freckle-laden nose nearly touched her perfectly tiny one. "Transfiguration was always one of your weak spots back at school."

"I got through the N.E.W.T.," she contested, the tone in her voice reminding him that she'd done well in jinxes and hexes and was not above using them.

"With my help," he continued his chide with a smile. "It's just a little fix to make your cheekbones higher, I promise to be really quick."

The lack of words from her mouth appeared to give him consent as he backed up and allow his arm some movement. Placing the tip of his wand against her right cheek a small green spark lifted her features slightly and thinned her face shape even more, but it nonetheless completed the look of Svetlana.

"You remember who helped you pass your Potions O.W.L.," she smirked as he shifted himself over to her left side.

"Naturally," he whispered as his wand touched her cheek. "And if we were impersonating real people you'd be brewing the Polyjuice Potion, but as it turns out we're using Transfiguration."

He took a step back, admiring his work as an artist would over the beauty they had fashioned. Looking between the model picture to the side of the vanity and the breathing model sitting before him, there was not a hair out of place as he declared her perfection.

"Thank you," she nodded after a final glance into the vanity mirror as she rose from the seat and started for her own wardrobe change. "Luka will be at the tavern tonight as well. Mikhail has said he'll be inviting his co-workers at the Apothecary out for a drink and even if they decline he'll be around. He's fairly inconspicuous as a worker needing a drink after a long Saturday shift."

"Sounds logical," he called after her as he seated himself at the mirror and prepared to grow out his short ginger hair. Looking into the reflective glass he saw someone who he needed to forget for several hours, so with a silent salute he bid a temporary goodbye to Charlie Weasley.

* * *

Andreas Kaminski wandered into The Crossed Fangs at a late hour, when most respectable witches and wizards had retired for the night and those who remained were only partway through their drinking regime. The tavern tables were busy, many patrons laughing loudly over spilled ales as Livvia darted along collecting empty glasses before they wound up as broken glass on the floor. A wave to the waitress earned him a quick smile and a hand gesture towards a small empty table close to a window.

"A pint of mead as usual, I presume," she blushed as he went by towards the table she had indicated. "I'll bring it by soon."

"I'll be waiting," he smiled back as he removed his jacket and continued on to his window-side seat.

From the corner of his beetle-black eye he could see Luka deep in conversation with a witch and wizard, all of them dressed in neatly pressed navy robes emblazoned with an emblem of a cauldron. A large party of red-faced warlocks were huddled near the dartboard, cheering on two of their battling companions by taking a drink from their goblets for every turn. With a glance to the bar Svetlana was in the midst of caressing the bicep of the flexing bartender whilst his friend behind the bar filled the orders for a waitress' tray. In the shadows of the farthest corner he was certain there was a vampire seated in the booth sipping a drink, scanning the crowd just as he was doing himself. For a moment they met eyes, but both were clever enough to keep going.

"Here you are," Livvia announced as the mug of mead was placed before him freshly frothing and dripping foam onto the table, "The Crossed Fangs finest."

"Thank you," he nodded as he reached for the handle of the mug, raising his glass to the smiling barmaid before taking a small swig and letting the flavour of dance down to his stomach. "How have things been tonight?"

"Oh, the usual Saturday night crowd..." Livvia held her tray to her chest tightly as she blushed a rosy pink in her cheeks.

"Anything that would interest someone who is inspired by stories of intrigue?" he plied as he wiped away the foamy moustache from his real one.

"Well, we can't all have interesting lives like the people in your stories," she answered, bowing her head down. "Will you be eating tonight or are you just drinking with us?"

With a promise to answer that question after the first pint of mead, the barmaid went back to making her rounds as Andreas indulged in his habit of people-watching while nursing his smooth drink. Through his thick lens he watched as a few parties, including Luka and his co-workers, called the night and left the tavern to those who were dedicated to seeing closing. Two bottles of elf-made wine was ordered at the next table over where a group of middle-aged witches indulged in a night off from their husbands much to the delight of the warlocks, who had abandoned watching darts in favour of glancing at the women. The vampire from the opposing corner of the tavern had not budged at all, simply scanning around the space with an ambivalent stare.

It took an hour for him to finish sipping at his first drink and it was not long before a second was brought to him courtesy of the attentive barmaid, who thought it was finally time for her to have a break and seated herself across from her favourite customer.

"How is the writing going?" she asked, her eyes growing to the size of saucers as she awaited his answer. "It's been so long since you've been around; I thought your block must certainly be over."

"I've picked up the pen again, so to speak," Andreas replied, flashing a mischievous smirk to her. "All of these political things happening overseas, what with a former Auror being elected to Minister for Magic, has fed the imagination for my work."

The door of conversation was open and politics was the table on. He just needed Livvia to bite in.

"How marvellous," she sighed, leaning onto the table as she drank in his words. "I knew you would find your muse again. It was only a matter of time and the right inspiration."

The chime hanging over the front entrance jingled as the wooden door opened to admit another client, Andreas lifting an eye over Livvia's shoulder to see who had come in for the nightcap. A drooping plain blue wizard hat partially obscured his view of the new customer, who glanced towards the stairs leading to the rooms of the inn. Immediately the figure approached, crossing to the farther side of the bar and ascending the wooden steps silently.

A single glance over the tavern from the mystery figure lasted all of second, but caught Andreas' attention. His dark eyes darted towards the bar, noting that Svetlana had her focus elsewhere and did not see the face of the Romanian Minister for Magic.

"Is that Emilian Zolnerowich?" he interrupted Livvia, pointing towards the stairs, trying his best to appear nonchalant on seeing the man that none of Tomov's Ministry friends could get to come and play cards.

Livvia looked over to the stairs just as the Minister vanished down a corridor of rooms, the disappearing hem of his billowing cloak being all that her hazel eyes saw. "I didn't see, but he does come in every now and again."

"Really?" Andreas gasped. Catching himself slipping from casual surprise, he sat himself straighter and took hold the mug of mead before finishing his thought. "How interesting. What does he come for?"

"I don't know," Livvia shrugged. "Barmaids don't really have anything to do with the business of the upstairs. And if anyone up there does order anything it's always Nessa's job to bring it up."

A bob of her head pointed out the other working waitress, a short dark-haired woman with sharp narrow eyes who was walking with purpose towards their table. Hurrying across the floor, placing a few ordered drinks down as she went, she made her way to Livvia's side in an instant. She briefly glanced down at Andreas, but was quick to turn her hawk-like eyes onto her co-worker.

"Hate to interrupt your lovely little conversation, but I've got business to address upstairs and then my shift is done for tonight," Nessa curtly piped, handing Livvia her serving tray. "Break is over."

Livvia was quick to rise from her seat and follow Nessa towards the bar, mouthing an apology to Andreas when she stopped to pick up a few empty glasses and bottles from a nearby table. He could only smile and wave in response as his mind churned with possibilities.

Emilian Zolnerowich was at the very least an elusive man. Unlike Cornelius Fudge who appeared in The Daily Prophet weekly until his forced resignation, Zolnerowich said very little on the public stage and it seemed to ensure his long tenure in the position. Since the news of You-Know-Who's return, he had been particularly silent and referred everything relating the escalating war in Britain to his Minister of International Magical Cooperation. Other than at work he was rarely seen until this sighting at the notorious tavern that was a common meeting place for his predecessor: Nicolae Ceausescu, the Muggle and Wizard dictator. What business he was conducting at The Crossed Fangs was worth discovering.

He had a quick scan of his surroundings. The group of warlocks that had been playing darts and watching the wine-drinking witches had retired from their fun and in its place started singing a slow slurred song that Andreas thought may have been "Odo the Hero," though it was difficult to be sure exactly. Livvia was busy at work counting change for a customer whilst the bartender was still rapt in conversation with the Scandinavian model. An elderly gentleman had taken residence near the fire to enjoy a fine brandy while the vampire in the corner had not moved from his spot. None of them seemed aware of the politician above their heads, which worked in Andreas' favour.

Downing a last gulp of mead, he ruffled through the coins in his pocket and counted out the cost of the two drinks. Blindly his hand searched the back of his chair and he started for the bar with his jacket in hand. He carefully paced his step, not trying to appear too eager as he approached and dropped the coins onto the bar without a word. The available bartender gave him a quick nod to acknowledge the payment as he continued to pour drinks and Andreas casually turned his body to the stairs.

He had not even laid a foot down on the first wooden step when he heard it. "Hey! That's the inn up there; paying guests only."

Turning quickly on his heel, he saw the two bartenders, Livvia, and Svetlana looking in his direction. A confused look crossed the two women's faces, and for a split second the blonde model's steely grey eyes appeared in green to him.

"Then, where might I find the lavatory?" he asked with a smile.

The two bartenders simultaneously pointed towards the back of the tavern to a door painted with a little man in plain sight before they both went about their jobs of pouring drinks and flirting, respectively. Livvia smiled back at him as she went by with another round of drinks for the thirsty warlocks and Svetlana had vanished from his view as her friendly companion blocked the sight of her.

Putting his coat back on, Andreas waved his farewell to Livvia and dashed out the door with a jingle of the silvery chime lingering above it. The night air bit at his fair skin, the distinctive chill on the wind informing those out late that autumn was indeed on the horizon. With his hand holding his jacket closed, he scanned the street only to find it was void of any noticeable inhabitant. The wizarding village had gone to sleep and he intended not to awaken it.

He intentionally walked past the bar windows, noticing from the corner of his eye that Livvia had cast her vision towards the clear glass so as to catch a last glimpse of the bohemian. She had seen him walking away for the night and would not expect him to return, which was exactly as he wanted. With his wand in his sleeve and a Disillusionment Charm in mind, he turned the corner of the pub and entered the alleyway.

As soon as he'd set foot into the shadow of the tavern's stony structure, he felt himself lift off the ground and his body slammed into the wall with force enough to knock the glasses from his eyes blurring his vision. Rough pieces of rock poked into his spine, but he couldn't move with a large forearm pinning his shoulders and a hand holding down his wand arm. He could only see the outline of the bulky figure dressed in black and the misty fog of its breath in the cool air around them.

"I know what you're up to," a gruff voice emitted from the vapours as the pressure against Andreas' chest tightened, nearly cutting off his ability to breathe properly.

"What do you mean?" he gasped to the hazy shadow.

The answer was a swift blow to his nose, which gave a deafening crack beneath the strength of the mysterious figure. Andreas' head bent back and impacted with the stone wall behind him, the pain resonating out and into every inch of his ears and eyes. He didn't know his vision could be worse, but the figure glossed over as though he were hidden behind several layers of frosted glass.

The pressure on his chest alleviated and he could feel ground beneath his feet, but his legs could not sustain his weight and he fell instantly onto the cobblestone alleyway. He gulped at the cold air letting it fill his lungs again, only to have a hard boot kick it out and left him breathless again. His body instinctively curled inward, wanting to protect his vital organs as blood from his nose began seeping onto the pavement.

"I'd better not see you around here again," the voice commanded.

There was no sound other than Andreas' own laboured breathing mixed with the occasional groan of pain as he tried to uncurl his body. The lack of footsteps on the stone told him the shadowy giant had Disapparated without a trace and he was alone in the now bloody alley. With great effort he pulled his wand from the sleeve of his coat and summoned the fallen glasses to his face. Part of the haze lifted as the glasses corrected his visual impairment, but they could not fix the dizzying swirls of his surroundings. Lying still for several minutes, he waited for some of the pain to subside and forced his eyes to stay open despite the shakiness in case he had a concussion.

Very slowly he tried to rise, rolling onto his sore stomach and getting on all-fours before pawing his hand at the stonewall for leverage. His fingers managed to find a hold to grasp, which gave his other hand the freedom to search for another. With very deep breaths he pulled himself to a standing position, but could not let go of the wall for fear of falling back to the ground and having to go through the painful process all over again.

Without warning something had taken hold of one of his arms. Whipping around expecting to see his attacker again, his dark eyes were met instead by a moonlit face bordered with waves of blonde hair. Svetlana quickly threw his arm over shoulder and used her other hand to hold his waist so he no longer needed the support of the wall.

"I've got you," she whispered into his ear just as the sensation of a raw egg began to dribble down his face.

With the Disillusionment Charm cast over the two of them, she freely walked him out of the alley and started down the cobblestone road to their familiar meeting place. In the waiting car she had a stock of potions that would take away the pain and prevent a concussion. She would heal him, so it was all right to sleep now.

And Andreas' world went black.

* * *

"Thank you for your help, Mikhail," said Abby, as she shut the door to the car, careful to not get the draping of her red dress caught. "I'll get him upstairs and into bed."

"Do you vant me to alert anyone?" the man in the navy cauldron-emblazed robe asked. "Herb? Simeon?"

"It can wait until morning," the Healer replied, brushing the ginger bangs away from her patient's natural freckly face. "He's all fixed up and he had his concussion draught, so he'll be perfectly fine after a good sleep. No use in worrying everyone until he tells us exactly what happened to him...or rather Andreas."

With Charlie levitating at her waist she led the way into the whitewashed building, only the light of her oak wand feeding her sense of sight. Gently she led the hovering body up a flight of stairs, careful to hold doors open long enough to allow him through without further injury. Once in the infirmary she led him to his usual bed, the one nearest to the window, laid him softly onto the cushiony mattress and covered him with a blanket so the chilly night would not have an effect on him.

Sitting upon the bed next to his she kicked off her red heels, keeping her green stare upon his slowly rising and falling chest. The slight movements of Charlie's body had an almost hypnotic effect, relaxing her tired body as she put the light of her wand out in hopes that sleep would soon find her. As her wand dimmed its illumination, a second source of light met the corner of her eye and caused her head to turn.

In the aisle between the beds and the windows, a small table with a white cloth had been set up with two chairs. Upon the covered table were several long white candles glowing with light as they surrounded a large present topped with a white satin bow. Compelled by the light of the candles, she rose from her seat and walked over to the table, noticing the small card that had been tucked carefully into the bow. Using a single finger, she slid the card out from beneath the soft ties and flipped it open to read the five lines that had been penned inside in a beautiful cursive script.

 _Wishing the happiest of birthdays to you:_

 _My best friend,_

 _My true love,_

 _And my everything._

 _\- Charlie_

"You're safe," Abby said quietly as she tucked the loving card back into place and made her way back to her beloved's side, leaning down to lay her lips against his cheek. "That in itself makes this a very happy birthday."

* * *

 **A/N:** Still going at this, but moving a little bit faster right now and thus it was time to release something, even if no one is reading this anymore I still feel the need to write it.

I'll leave little to say here and just leave open to speculation about who beat Charlie/Andreas and why.

Abby's birthday is September 8th. In Dragon Tears, I wrote Charlie and Simeon's birthday. It was time to show someone else's, though far from an ideal celebration.


	9. Chapter Eight: Weekend with William

**Chapter Eight: Weekend with William**

 _MUGGLE DEATH CONNECTED TO WIZARD FAMILY_

 _Rose Abbott (nee Harris) of Warwickshire is the latest Muggle victim in a string of Death Eater murders that has plagued the country since the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A devoted wife, mother and pillar of her Muggle community, it is a large loss felt deeply through her neighbourhood and puzzled upon by wizards._

 _While Muggle deaths have become commonplace in a reign of terror, what has captured attention is that Mrs. Abbott was married to known pureblood wizard, Mr. Thomas Abbott, and lived under many protective charms cast by her husband to ensure her safety in troubled times. The brazen mid-morning murder discovered by an elderly neighbour has shocked everyone and unsettled many who have been taking the same precautions that the Abbotts did._

" _Are any of us really safe?" commented known government critic, Fitzwilliam Nott. "If our Ministry has made suggestions for our safety and they have proven to be ineffective through this tragic murder, can we truly put our trust into Minister Scrimgeour?"_

 _The widower Abbott could not be reached for comments, but asked for privacy so that he could grieve with his teenage daughter._

* * *

A still photograph of the victim had been printed in The Romanian Horn beside the article, her gentle appearance adding another layer of sadness to the obituary of Rose Abbott. Long plaited blonde hair had been twisted into an elegant knot at the top her head, seeming to mark her with a purposeful halo. While there was no movement in the picture her eyes appeared to sparkle with life, making it difficult to imagine that she was truthfully dead as reported.

Simeon Slovensky looked at the watch on his left wrist before taking a glance out the car window. The sidewalk was filled with Muggles: mothers pushing their toddlers in prams, businessmen hurrying to get a bite of lunch before another meeting, and tourists lurking about with cameras in tow. Everyone outside seemed to have somewhere to be as they rushed about the street with a destination in mind, not even noticing the man in the car with a newspaper that had moving pictures.

The lack of a redhead in the crowd told him there was still time before he had to head back to the reserve. Folding up the newspaper and tossing it onto the passenger seat, he reached into the pocket of his thick dark jacket and pulled out a small foil-wrapped package. With his delicate fingers he got to the task of unwrapping the thin covering until the bar of milk chocolate was unveiled. Breaking off a single piece he laid it upon his tongue and simply let it melt. The flavours swayed in his mouth and danced their way down into his stomach, giving him a moment of pure bliss that had him shut his eyes off from his surroundings so as to focus on the chocolate.

When he opened his dark eyes again, he saw who he was waiting for walking down the road with a worn carpet bag in hand. The tall man was dressed well, a button-up shirt with slacks and a jacket hanging from his arm that would have not been out of place in the business district of Bucharest. However, his long red hair was swept into a ponytail that trailed behind him and a dragon fang dangled from one ear, marking him as someone who probably did not work in Muggle finance. Simeon opened the car door and stood so that the man could see him just as he was about to pass by without a second glance.

"Simeon?" the tall man asked in his English accent, his blue eyes narrowing slightly at the dark-haired Bulgarian.

"Yes, Mr Veasley," he greeted with a bow of his head.

"Oh please, call me Bill," requested the lanky redhead as he opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat with his bag on his lap.

Simeon slid back into the driver seat, offering another nod of acknowledgement to his honoured guest as he placed the key into the ignition and started the car. Assuring that it was safe, he pulled out onto the street and began to navigate the Bucharest streets to find his way out of the city and back to the familiarity of the rolling countryside and mountains.

"How are you?" Bill asked as the car turned a corner. "It has been some years since we last saw each other on my last visit. What's new?"

"Many things," the dark-clothed driver replied to the question as his eyes focused on the job of driving the Muggle contraption. "I trust you had a productive meeting vith the goblins of Gringotts."

"Oh, yes," answered Bill as he put his carpet bag onto the floor of the car, leaving his hands free to lean against the window. "Mind, it gets fairly difficult to have a business conversation in Gobbledegook. A few times I didn't know if we were talking about Galleons or Quidditch."

Simeon nodded, hoping the slight bob of his head was communication enough for his best friend's older brother. Polite small talk was not something he was particularly talented with while Bill seemed to be quite proficient in that area.

"How has Charlie been?" Bill continued to spur on their conversation, directing his blue eyes right at the driver.

A silence filled the cavity of the car. Simeon's hands tightened on the steering wheel as his lips pursed together. He checked his side mirror to merge into another lane, effectively avoiding the eyes of the passenger.

"Vell," he finally responded. "He vas sorry to not be able to come and get you…"

"I know about the attack," the redheaded man explained, taking his eyes off the Bulgarian dragon keeper and pointing them out his own window at the quaint cafés lining the streets. "Dumbledore told our family last week. You can tell me the truth, Simeon."

A second quietude fell between the passengers once again, the air around the two men becoming thick with tension as Simeon's knuckles became white. "I think it vould be best to hear from your brother himself."

Bill sighed, slumping his head against the headrest. "Speaking as a fellow member of the Order then, has anyone determined why the attack happened? Was his identity compromised?"

"Ve do not know the answers," the driver said cautiously. "So ve have taken the precautions as Dumbledore instructed."

The Weasley nodded at the reply as the Bulgarian turned onto the road that would lead them away from the bustling city as well as conversation. Quiet filled the space between the young men for the third time as the car continued down the paved highway, Bill staring blankly into the scenery without really drinking in the beauty. Silence was not unfamiliar to Simeon; in fact it was something he frequently preferred over mindless polite chatter. Unfortunately the sudden end of talk from the friendly brother of his best friend was more than Simeon could bear.

"So, I hear you are engaged," he commented begrudgingly. "How is the vedding planning going?"

* * *

A cool autumn breeze was blowing through the wooded mountain ranges as Charlie walked from The Nest back to the main building. The chilled air prickled across the exposed skin of his freckly face, making him grateful for the soft yellow knit jumper and bellyful of hot tea that kept his upper body warm. Passing the backside of one of the dormitory buildings and crossing into the courtyard, a handful of his colleagues had started their weekends already by making their way towards the empty field that they used as a makeshift Quidditch pitch with racing brooms in hand.

"Charlie!" Gustavo Garcia waved at him with his Cleansweep Five in hand. "You want to play Seeker for my team?"

A hard hand instantly found the back of Gustavo's head as his sibling and member of the research team, Lupe, gripped her broom tightly with both hands and prepared to smack sense into her older brother.

"I can't play today, actually," Charlie called out across the courtyard with a wave of his hand. "My brother is coming for a visit."

"Don't let me be your excuse, Seeker boy," a memorable voice called from the archway that led to the main building.

Charlie turned his head to look to the origin of the voice, where he found a long-haired young man leaning against the vine-covered wooden trestle. The tall and lanky figure took a few steps forward, leaving a worn carpet bag and jacket on the ground as he approached. For a second, Charlie swore he had stepped back in time as the man had a strong resemblance to old pictures he'd seen of his father before he'd settled down and had children. The difference was in the long ponytail of ginger hair and the dragon fang pierced into his right ear.

"I believe the proper name is Seeker man now," the dragon keeper responded with a playful smirk. "I did come of age almost seven years ago in case some ancient curse erased your ability to count."

"Well, that's clearly my excuse, what's yours?" Bill laughed, continuing to come close to his younger brother until he could pat the stockier Weasley on the shoulder and wrapped an arm around his sibling. "How are you doing, Charlie?"

"Good," the younger brother replied, putting his hands into his pockets. "I'm very good, Bill…"

"Dumbledore told us about the attack," the older Weasley interrupted in a low voice before his brother could ask how he was, "so tell me the truth about how you're doing."

Charlie rolled his brown eyes as he started towards the main building, passing beneath the intricate trestle that hid the courtyard from view as Bill picked up his luggage and followed a step behind. The dragon keeper turned and walked backwards in order to meet the eye of his only older brother. "I really am doing fine, Bill. Whoever attacked me did so without a wand so there was no serious injury that couldn't be fixed. I deactivated myself as a spy just to be safe, and while I don't like it, it is in the best interest of the Order and I accept that. That's the truth."

The older brother smirked from the corner of his mouth, draping his jacket over one shoulder as he shook his head. "You always say the noble thing when you're unhappy, you know?"

The contented smile on Charlie's face dropped as Bill began to speak. "Whenever you couldn't get your way as a kid, you put on your brave face and rationalise why that was for the best so that no one would feel bad for you. Mum used to say you were 'born Gryffindor' with such chivalry. I believe it's the truth when you say you've accepted your fate, but I don't know about being good with it all. So, I ask again, how are you doing?"

A sigh escaped from the dragon keeper's lips as he leaned against the wooden trestle and crossed his arms over his yellow jumper. "I've been better but honestly, Bill, the attack was two weeks ago and I've gotten past it. Abby has turned over her coordination duties to me, so I'm still doing my part for the Order. I promise that it is the full truth."

Bill pursed his lips together, his blue eyes gleaning as he looked with careful consideration into Charlie's own brown orbs as though he'd be able to detect some hidden fact written on the pupil. With a heavy sigh of his own, he pat the younger Weasley on the shoulder and suggested that his brother lead him to a cup of strong coffee as it had been a long meeting with the goblins.

They made their way to the mess hall, which only hosted a few workers who had come by for an afternoon caffeine boost in order to complete their days work. Far from the madness of mealtimes, it was relatively deserted. Seating themselves at a long empty table, Bill waved his wand and summoned two cups of coffee from the nearby serving area along with cream, sugar and two spoons to mix their preferred brew.

"None for me, thanks," Charlie declined as a cup whizzed by his face and landed on the table next to his hand without spilling a drop of the hot black liquid. He took out his own wand and sent the coffee back to its spot, where Tamara was quick to pick it up and walk out of the mess hall. "Now I can finally ask, how are you? How is Fleur? How is the family?"

"Everyone is well, though I believe they'll all be better once I write and tell them that you're fine," answered Bill as he stirred a small amount of cream into his mug, transforming the dark brew into a slightly lighter colour. "Mum nearly came to see you herself, you know."

"Sounds like Mum." Charlie shook his head and laughed. "I hope she didn't worry too much."

"Well, it really took the pressure off of the wedding, to be honest," his long-haired brother replied as he took a sip of his coffee. "Worrying about you, Mum had no time to complain about Fleur."

"Still having a time trying to win over the future mother-in-law?"

"Mum and Fleur just don't see eye-to-eye yet, but they will," Bill defended, "once they get to know each other more. They're both such loving and caring people, it will just take time…and perhaps a sedative for Mum."

Charlie laughed at the thought; Mrs Weasley had never approved of any of Bill's romantic relationships as far back as he could recall. Melissa Jones, a Ravenclaw Prefect he'd dated for a summer back in sixth year, was too controlling and demanding; his seventh-year girlfriend, Carrie Abbott, had no ambition beyond school and would surely drag down the Head Boy; and while she had never formally met Rose Markowitz, a Gringotts bank employee in Giza, she was certainly not good enough for her eldest son. Mrs Weasley was good to always keep her comments away from those young ladies' boyfriend, but the thought that she might accept her future daughter-in-law anytime soon was like the concept of a trained dragon.

"I did have to ask you something about the wedding though," the older Weasley interjected as his brother's snickers died down.

"Whatever it is, I agree with Fleur," Charlie said with a devilish smirk. "Happy wife, happy life."

"Not quite what I had to ask you." Bill took another sip from his coffee, breathing in the rich aroma before pressing on with his quest. "Charlie, I would like to formally ask you to be my best man."

"Really?" the dragon keeper laughed beneath his breath, shaking his head as his warm brown eyes sparkled mischievously. "Do you really not have any friends to ask?"

"Shut it, you're my brother," the elder argued back with a roll of his eyes as he took another sip from his drink.

"Not exactly a crucial prerequisite considering we have four others."

"Be serious for a moment," Bill exclaimed, silencing Charlie's audible snickers for the moment. He straightened his shoulders and stared sternly into the laughing eyes of his brother. "What's your answer?"

Mimicking his only senior sibling's austerity and channelling a bit of his unusually proper younger brother, Charlie quickly sat up straight in his seat. He threw his shoulders back and puffed out his broad chest, directing his dignified attention towards the important question he'd been asked. With the serious expression that his brother had asked for on his face he replied, "William Arthur Weasley, it would be an honour to serve as your best man."

Bill snorted derisively, shaking his head so that the dragon fang swung about on its metal link chain. He took another swig of his coffee and smiled at Charlie. "Now, was that so hard?"

"A bit," laughed Charlie, dropping his pompous demeanour quickly in favour of relaxing his body. "How does Percy do that constantly?"

"Well, Fred did once tell him to remove the stick from his butt," smirked Bill. "And...well, you remember how that turned out."

"Ah, yes," sighed Charlie, suppressing the laughter that was bubbling in his throat. "Fred's first sign of magic: having Dad's Muggle pliers chase Percy around the house trying to remove said stick."

Laughter erupted at the table just as he completed the sentence, the two finding it impossible to contain themselves any longer. Hearty chuckles from deep in the pits of their stomachs streamed out of their lungs and filled the near empty room, causing some of the researchers seeking mid-day caffeine jolts to give them a strange look before going about their regular business. As Bill collected himself and wiped tears from his eyes one look at Charlie sent him into another fit of giggles until it was no longer about an old memory of another brother, but rather that they simply enjoyed a good laugh.

* * *

The sun had become low in the sky after dinner; the last light of day painting a warm-coloured earth as it bid the world goodnight and allowed the moon to rule over the stars. Despite the cool autumn air, many were still outside enjoying the last remains of daylight as approaching winter would soon make them briefer. Abby and Charlie had opted for an evening stroll down the path to the magical border, while Bill had politely declined citing the need to write home. From the top of the main building where a small wooden Owlery was housed he sat with his back against the structure and a small blue flame at his side to shelter him from the cold.

Mrs Weasley had been insistent that her oldest son write as soon as possible to let her know that her second son really was all right following the attack and Bill wasn't about to deny his mother some peace of mind. For over a week since they'd heard the news he had been subject to his mother's constant worries over Charlie's health, threatening a few times a day to go to Romania herself to assure he really was in good physical condition. It took several reminders from Mr Weasley and Bill that Dumbledore had stated in his report that everything was fine and the Hogwarts Headmaster had no reason to conceal truth from them. Hearing it from Bill, however, would solidify it, and Mrs Weasley would breathe easier and start criticizing her future daughter-in-law again without that burden upon her.

Signing his name to the declaration that Charlie was indeed doing perfectly fine, Bill rose from his little warm spot on the roof, extinguishing the blue flame as he walked away, and entered the Owlery. The darkening night was awakening the nocturnal birds and it didn't take long for a large Barn Owl to volunteer herself for the task of flying all the way to Ottery St. Catchpole. Taking the magnificent creature out into the twilight, he handed the sealed letter to her, approached the furthest edge of the rooftop behind the Owlery and allowed her to use his forearm as a springboard into the evening air. He watched as the owl vanished into the shadows of the woods, and then heard the roof door open and shut with a heavy clunk.

"Oh, I hope Rachele will like her birthday present," said a feminine voice Bill recognized immediately as belonging to Bella Ribisi, a close friend of his brother. She was walking quickly towards the Owlery as her voice drew closer. "She is like her mother in many ways and Cousin Milena loved books when she was her age."

"It is the thought that counts," added the cool drawl of Simeon Slovensky from inside the wooden building.

Turning from where he stood, Bill saw the outline of the two figures emerge from around the building with a Tawny Owl perched upon the taller individual's shoulder. The shorter person held out a small wrapped package near the talons of the owl, who happily spread their wings and grasped the parcel before taking off into the rising moonlight.

The two lovers on the rooftop spoke quietly against the backdrop of sunset as Bill came closer to the building. He conspired to move himself to the opposite side of the Owlery, so as to not disturb their private moment, but as he went closer to the exterior wall he couldn't help but catch a snippet of their conversation even though he could no longer see the couple.

"Is Charlie staying with Bill in the dormitory guest rooms?" he heard Bella ask.

"I believe so," her boyfriend answered.

"Then maybe I should come over and keep you company. I'll pack a bag for the weekend."

"You live across the courtyard," Simeon said with a hint of a snicker at the end of his factual statement. "There is no need to pack."

There was a brief silence, the few seconds being enough time to tell both men on the roof that Simeon had said the wrong thing. While Bill had succeeded in moving himself to the opposite side of the Owlery and hoped he was now out of earshot, he had a feeling he was about to hear the remainder of this exchange.

"It is convenience," argued Bella, her voice becoming louder as Bill had expected it would. She was on the move again as well, her voice travelling back towards the rooftop door that would carry the couple back into the main building. "You certainly didn't complain when I stayed over while Charlie was in the infirmary. I practically lived with you for almost all of March and April."

"I am not complaining," Simeon trailed after her. "You just do not need vaste time packing. You live across the vay. And you think the boys' bathroom is gross anyvay. That vas vhy ve slept in your room sometimes."

"You could still show a little enthusiasm for a person who wants to spend more time with you!" rebuked the Italian researcher before her voice faded away behind the clunk of the rooftop door.

A couple's quarrel was no stranger to Bill Weasley; he and Fleur had their share of them behind closed doors, usually ending with some choice French words he didn't know the meaning of. While the two were probably still having heated words below, Bella and Simeon's problem wasn't his concern; most lover spats had a way of working themselves out without any intervention.

What concerned him more was that Charlie had stayed in the sanctuary's hospital for almost two months and he didn't know why.

Looking out into the forested area that shrouded the entrance of the Romanian International Dragon Reserve, he peered down to the dirt pathway and saw Abby emerge linked in arm with his younger brother. A few fall leaves had tangled into her long brown tresses, which Charlie immediately brushed away as he ran his fingers through her mane and down to her chin. Bathed in purple light from the fast-setting sun, they paused at the end of their road and moved closer in their embrace until the tips of her noses were pressed against each other.

Bill turned his head in the other direction and began to head for the rooftop door that would take him downstairs and back to the guest room he was occupying in one of the dormitory building. He had a weekend to find out what had been happening with Charlie and he fully intended to discover what his little brother was hiding from the family.

* * *

 **A/N:** As always, trudging along. Recently found the chapter I'm currently into wasn't working and going back to think on it there needed to be a change in perspective and suddenly it works better.

It isn't said, but it is intended that the news article links to the actual events of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince when Hannah Abbott leaves school due to her mother's death. Context.

Return of the Weasleys. Originally I hadn't intended to write in other Weasleys besides Charlie in this story and any information Charlie had would come from letters, but given the close relationship the two oldest brothers supposedly had and how many references to the family in general there are it seemed odd to not have them interact, so it was time to bring in Bill to connect to his brother.

More on Bill and Charlie later...

Cheers.


	10. Chapter Nine: The Tale of the Dark Mark

**Chapter Nine: The Tale of the Dark Mark**

"Keep an eye out for Zolnerowich. If he does come back to The Crossed Fangs tonight, we need to know why."

Mr Tomov looked back at Charlie over his shoulder, narrowing his bushy eyebrows at the ginger man while he wrapped his thick fur-lined cloak tightly around his shoulders. At a glance, one wouldn't think that a middle-aged, portly, and balding warlock would be intimidating until one remembered that it was Simeon Slovensky behind the fire in his eyes.

"I do not know vhat you expect," a gruff grunt came from Mr Tomov as he crossed to his closet and selected a fur cap to cover his bald head. "He is probably like many men in politics and meeting his mistress."

"Which is why your mistress is going to be there," his friend stated plainly, patting him on the shoulder.

Charlie wandered back over to the vanity and grabbed the clipboard that Abby had long been the keeper of. Double-checking his information and scheduling, he informed his roommate to be downstairs in ten and went to check on Mr Tomov's other half: his much-talked of mistress, Anya.

Walking out of the dressing room and ducking the demon knocker, he walked back into the Order's conference room where Bella was seated across from a dark-haired woman who had her back to Charlie. With photographs and papers spread out in a fan around the table Bella looked meticulously at the notes and then back to the woman every few seconds, inspecting every inch for a miscalculation in her appearance.

"Is Madam Romanova ready for her debut?" asked Charlie.

"As ready as we can get her," Bella replied, gathering all the papers into a pile as she stood from her place.

The dark-haired woman turned in his direction and stood, giving him a view of her newly transformed figure. Charlie's eyes went straight to her almond-shaped black orbs, noticing the finest wrinkles in the corners that gave away the age she was hiding beneath a layer of foundation and powder. A stern expression was on her thin painted red lips, giving the air that she was not impressed by present company. While dressed inconspicuously in simple black dress robes, the fabric looked to be of fine quality and design as it hung delicately from her frame.

"How do you feel?" Charlie asked, approaching the older woman and looking down into her dark eyes.

"All right," Anya answered with a distinctive Russian accent through her stern lips. "A bit nervous, but all right."

"Deep breaths," he advised as he leaned in closer. "You'll be great."

The door to the dressing room opened again to allow Mr Tomov through, the goblin ornament disappearing with the door as it slammed shut behind him. He rested his decorative walking stick on Charlie's shoulder, ushering the boy aside to let him see the woman that he was supposed to be having a torrid love affair with behind his sickly wife's back. His beady eyes ran up and down Anya, taking her in for the first time and nodding his approval.

" _Moya ledi_ ," he said in flawless Russian as he tipped his fur hat to her.

"Stanislav," she greeted, bowing her head in return and extending a hand for her lover to lay his lips upon.

The bottom of Charlie's stomach began to churn furiously, twisting and knotting itself about as though a small creature was learning to tie its shoes on his intestines. However, it was not an unfamiliar sensation. It had struck him many times before when he'd watched the bartender of The Crossed Fangs flirt shamelessly with Svetlana. While he was aware it was an act that had to be performed, it didn't stop the green-eyed monster within from growling for it to end.

"You two should head down," Charlie interrupted the pleasantries by taking both the spies by the shoulder and directing them to the corridor exit. "Mikhail has the car ready by now. He'll be going along as added safety. Remember, look for Zolnerowich."

"All right," nodded Anya as Mr Tomov went ahead into the corridor. She paused at the threshold, bringing up her small white hand to touch his freckled cheek. "Sleep vell."

"Stay safe." His hand met hers upon his cheek, gently clasping over it. Despite the spells that had changed her appearance and aged her skin twenty years, her hands were still familiar: Healer's hands.

With a sigh she took back her hand and hurried down the corridor after her benefactor, gently weaving her arm into his before they disappeared around the corner of the hallway. From the door frame he could hear them testing the multi-language charm and carry on a polite conversation in Romanian, but as they went further from earshot the voices faded into a murmur.

"And now begins our waiting game," Bella said as she crept up next to Charlie, crossing her arms over the chest. "Like a slow Cruciatus Curse."

"Well, I've got Bill to distract me at the least," he reasoned, removing himself from the door frame to toss the clipboard onto the empty conference table. "We're going down to the nearby lake to camp for the night. You'd be welcome to join us if you like."

"No, it sounds like a brotherly bonding experience," she said with a small tight smile. "I think I'll go down to the lounge and find something to occupy my time. Perhaps I'll write to Seth and see how he's doing in Australia."

"You should tell him about our Fireball problem here," suggested Charlie, thinking about his dreaded upcoming Monday shift in their area of the enclosure during feeding. "Maybe he'd have some id..."

He stopped mid-sentence as he turned around and realised that Bella had soundlessly left the room, leaving him to talk dragons to empty chairs and bare walls. Grabbing the thick jacket and small black backpack on the nearest chair he walked out the door, letting the heavy wooden barrier shut behind him as the inlaid phoenix symbol ceased its circular flight and lay still in waiting for someone to return.

* * *

"…and they called it U-No-Poo: the Constipation Sensation That's Gripping the Nation!"

Howls of laughter echoed through the dense forest grounds, vibrating off the trunks of trees and spooking all the nearby wildlife from approaching the blue-hued light coming from the edge of the small lake. Night normally brought about a serene tranquillity to the woods around the dragon sanctuary with an occasional grumbling or roar from within the distant enclosures, but it had not accounted for the long awaited reunion of two brothers mixed with bottles of Firewhisky and several untold anecdotes of their lives that could not be communicated on parchment.

"Count on Fred and George to turn You-Know-Who into toilet humour," Charlie spit out between the guffaws and snorts. He took a few deep breaths to give his abdomen muscles a moment to relax, but it was of very little use as Bill's own squeal of delighted humour had him starting again.

The hot blue campfire crackled between the two merry men, the intense heat it expelled negating the need for the fleecy blankets they had brought on their autumn night excursion. Reclined in a conjured fabric folding chair by the light of the bright flames, the long-haired Weasley flicked his wand lazily to his bag of supplies. From within, another full bottle of clear beverage shot out and landed in the hand of the one who summoned it.

"Another round!" the Gringotts employee shouted happily as he pulled at the stubborn cork. "Courtesy of my wonderful future in-laws, the finest Firewhisky in France's wine country!"

"What has come over you, Billiam Weasley?" his brother asked as his fits of laughter finally subsided into simple snippets of snickers. "Last time someone got you Firewhisky, you put a sticking charm on the bottle so none of us could take it from your cold drunk hands."

Bill shrugged his shoulders as the cork came unstuck, allowing him to pour his little brother another drink. "Perhaps I feel generous tonight?"

A fresh glass of clear liquid found its way into Charlie's hand quickly, the Weasleys toasting with a clink before tasting their drinks and allowing the slow burning sensation to heat their bodies from within. Together they slumped back into their seats, reclining so they could observe the beautiful serenity of the night.

"You know Ginny's got herself a boyfriend at Hogwarts."

"What?" sputtered the younger Weasley, bolting as upright as he could in his flexible chair. He stared right at the messenger of the family news with his brown eyes as large as a house elf's. "Our little sister? She's only thirteen, what is she doing having a boyfriend at her age?"

"Well, Ginny's fifteen now to start," laughed Bill. "According to her friend Hermione, he's a nice fellow from Gryffindor and quite a gentleman. She kept it a secret from the lot of us for a while, but she seems happy and that's what matters."

A low guttural grunt of acceptance escaped Charlie's lips as he slumped back into his chair. It had been a few years since he'd last physically laid eyes upon his little sister, the first female born to the family in generations, and he thought of her as still being a sweet third-year student who could barely talk to her brother's best friend. Clearly a lot had happened since he'd last been home two years ago.

"Don't know why she felt compelled to keep that a secret for so long," continued the older brother as he sipped from his Firewhisky, cringing as it slid down his oesophagus like a live flame. "I mean, keeping big news from the family must have been difficult. She was so relieved once we all knew…"

Bill trailed off in his thought, looking at Charlie who reciprocated his brother's glares with his own. "What are you getting at here?"

The long-haired redhead sighed, looking down at his glass of clear liquid as though to question his need for another shot of alcoholic courage before saying what he needed to say. "I know you've been hiding something, Charles Septimus Weasley."

A curse escaped from beneath the dragon keeper's breath as he turned away from his brother and focused on the stars above their campsite. His glass of Firewhisky tilted against his lips and allowed the burning liquid to cascade into his stomach. It cast his entire body into a strong tingling warmth, but could not erase the declaration he had just heard from his brother's mouth.

"I know you were in the infirmary for two months…and before I imagine the worst possible things, I thought you might save me the agony."

"It's in the past," Charlie stated plainly keeping his eyes on the constellation of Draco, the dragon. "All you really need to know is that I'm better now and it isn't really worth discussion."

"Again with the chivalrous words instead of answering the question," snorted Bill. "Classic Charlie."

"Why do you feel the need to know this?" he yelled, his voice echoing across the vast space of the lake. He bolted up from his chair, starting for the pitched tent behind them before turning around and marching back to look his brother straight in the eye. "You think you need to know everything about me, but I'm a grown man of age and I don't need to let my big brother know about every little detail of my life. It is over. I am clearly fine. Why do you need to know?"

Bill paused for a moment, continuing to sit in his chair as he looked at his brother through the escaped strands of his loose ponytail. He gave a small smile looking up at the furious redhead standing before him. "Because you've always told me. Even if you didn't want Mum and Dad to know…you always told me everything since you were five and didn't sleep for three weeks."

"What?" came out of Charlie's mouth before he'd realised it. "I don't remember that!"

"You were five," reminded the elder Weasley. "And to top that off you were exhausted. It's no surprise to me if you can't remember that time."

The dragon keeper returned to his seat, settling back before the blue-hued campfire. Smoke from the cerulean flames cast a haze between the brothers, partially obscuring them from each other, though it seemed oddly fitting for the passing moment between them.

"Enlighten me," whispered Charlie as the bottle of Firewhisky flew across the campsite and poured him another drink.

Bill took a deep breath, leaning forward onto his knees. "It happened after we saw the Dark Mark at Grandma and Grandpa Prewett's."

The image of the fluorescent green skull and twisting snake instantly flashed through Charlie's mind. He had seen the iconic symbol of You-Know-Who many times before: in several Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks, in written recollections of those who had survived Death Eater attacks and most recently at the Quidditch World Cup two years ago. Every witch and wizard in their world feared the very idea of seeing the symbol floating in the sky and Charlie had seen it with his own eyes twice in his life. In his mind's memory the skeleton head seemed to laugh at the spectators below, taunting them to dare approach and view the horrors it left behind.

"I didn't make the connection then," continued the older brother as he shook his head, "but there was so much happening. Mum was hysterical. Dad was trying to calm her. Percy started fussing. We didn't notice that you'd wandered off to the house…before the Ministry had cleared the scene. An Auror found you in the hallway and brought you back…shaken."

While the image of the Dark Mark was vividly clear and perfectly preserved in memory, what Bill had vaguely described didn't register in his memory. Charlie could remember the sight of the ghostly skeleton and snake, followed by his mother's desperate scream, but nothing past that. It occurred after only a second that the gap in his recollection might have been purposeful on behalf of his brain.

"Fred and George were born less than a week later, and we were all so wrapped up in grief still. We didn't really notice you being unusually quiet. And then one night you came bursting into my room crying that I was still alive, that you'd thought I'd been killed by the skeleton and snake like Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon. You said you saw the Dark Mark whenever your eyes closed, so you had kept them open for as long as you could."

Images from his more recent insomniac hallucinations flashed in Charlie's head: the pervasive thoughts of his family members in agony at the hands of You-Know-Who while he was powerless to prevent it. The knowledge that he'd had these fears before made sense; he'd already lost grandparents and uncles beneath the haunting Dark Mark. His five year old self and twenty-four year old self didn't seem so different in that moment.

"You slept after that night," Bill continued to explain. "I told Dad what you told me. I think that's when he stuck those stars to the ceiling of your bedroom…to show you that there was no Dark Mark outside the Burrow and that we were safe."

A memory of young Arthur Weasley, with one of the infant twins in a hand and a wand in the other, came to mind. The star stickers were charmed to move about the ceiling of his second son's room and show the constellations as they changed over the year. As little Charlie lay in bed tucked beneath the sheets his father had gently assured him that as long as he was around no one would hurt his family again. The love in his smile had made the young boy believe and helped his eyes close to darkness instead of the dreaded green skull.

"What happened that made you stay in the infirmary for two months?" his older brother asked again over Charlie's sudden quietness.

Beneath the real night sky of stars, the dragon keeper kept silent. The sound of the crackling fire filled the space between the Weasleys, but the smoky haze had dissipated and left a clear line of sight across the campfire. With a quick glance down at his glass, he locked his brown eyes against Bill.

"Something fairly similar to the first secret I told you."

* * *

It was nearly eleven o'clock when Bill and Charlie made their way back from the lake to the main building of the dragon sanctuary. They had stayed up talking into the wee hours of the morning, and had thus had a lie in to compensate for the late night as well as their drinks. The campsite had not taken long to pack and they knew they would have plenty of time to make it back to the reserve, get Bill's belongings together and get him to Bucharest in time for his afternoon flight back to London and dinner with his beautiful fiancé.

"This was a nice visit, Charlie," the older Weasley remarked as the two walked alongside each other on the dirt path, the main building just within their sights. "We really should see each other more often."

"Well, there's your wedding this summer," said the dragon keeper, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he spoke, "though I imagine you'll be fairly occupied with the wedding and then busy for a while after it."

"And then there will be your wedding," Bill teased.

A swift punch to the arm was his brother's reply, just hard enough to hurt his skinny adult brother and make him stop talking for a brief moment. Unfortunately, only a brief moment.

"Don't wait too long is all I'm saying," the long-haired redhead justified. "You've known her far longer than I've known Fleur. If you're meant to be together, don't prolong singleness."

"It's not so much prolonging singleness as it is making up the time we lost," the younger brother explained, his eyes darting upwards to the infirmary's window where he'd often stolen a glance of the green-eyed Healer. "We're not in a hurry for anything…unlike some people who act as though they have a nine-month clock."

That time it was Charlie's turn to be punched in the arm, though the muscles he'd developed over the years of tending to dragons had made Bill's hit feel like a mere tap. The low laugh of his brother signified that he hadn't tried very hard either.

"Be nice, you prat," Bill sniggered as his boots bounded up the stairs to the wooden porch. "I am keeping a rather important secret from Mum and Dad for you."

"For their sake, not mine," Charlie reminded, opening the door and crossing the threshold of his home away from home.

They had only just entered the foyer when they found a pair of cross eyes looking at them from over a Sunday edition of The Romanian Horn newspaper.

"Abby and Simeon have been waiting to see you," Tamara announced rather sternly, as though she were about to begin scolding Charlie for tracking in dirt along the shiny floors. "They're upstairs in the infirmary."

Neither of the men waited for further explanation, dropping their bags to bolt down the corridor and up the steps to the second landing. Charlie burst through the doors of the sanctuary's hospital with Bill right behind him, making straight for the sole occupied bed where Abby and Bella were hovering.

"Take your time and rest," the Healer instructed her patient as she stood from her seat, a potion bottle in hand. "The ointment will take effect shortly."

A grunt of understanding came from the thin figure in the bed, who was facedown upon the pillow without a shirt and a thick yellow pasty substance across their back. Charlie and Bill stopped at the foot of the hospital bed.

"What happened?" Charlie spat out once he had stopped running.

"Is Simeon all right?" added Bill, panting behind his brother whilst whipping his long ponytail out of his face.

"Simeon is fine," Bella replied, a look of confusion crossing her face. "He just went to get something from his room while Abby tended to Marcel."

An arm of the bedridden figure waved at the newly arrived visitors, though he was unable to turn over with the potion seeping into the pores on his back. A turn of his head, followed by a deep laboured breath, allowed his mentor to see part of his face and confirm the identity as not his roommate.

"I overreached in my vorkout this morning," the skinny young man explained in his Romanian accent. "I should have vaited for you to return before trying the free veights."

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh my gosh, someone is actually reading this story! Army-X-7, I have to say that your leaving a review completely made my day. I assumed for a while no one was actually reading and that was fine since that's not why I write, but thank you for taking the time to read and leave a comment.

 _Moya ledi_ translates to "my lady" in Russian.

I've long thought about how the war might have affected the oldest Weasley boys and also lingered on the comment from Arthur Weasley in book four, about his vivd descriptor of the Dark Mark and Charlie has ultimately repressed his traumatic memory of his grandparents and uncles murders. It speaks to why the Second War is important to him and his fears are similar to his mother's because he's already suffered the loss. I tend to think of Charlie as being a lot like Mrs Weasley in many ways. But anyway, Bill knows Charlie best so it makes sense for him to be in on his brother's little secret.


End file.
